


Come A Little Closer

by mandzilkos



Series: In This World So Cruel, I Think You're So Cool [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Aromantic, Friends With Benefits, Homophobic Language, Kid Fic, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 306,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandzilkos/pseuds/mandzilkos
Summary: “I'm into you,” Franco said quietly. “Sexually.”Isco blinked at him, hoping his gaze wasn't faltering. He wasn't going to show Franco any sign of weakness. Even after knowing what made Franco cry for more, even after knowing he could make Franco as desperate as Isco felt – Isco wasn't going to show Franco any sign of weakness.It was like a constant competition, a constant challenge for dominance with Franco. But Isco was totally up for it. He had a feeling he’d have a lot of fun.“I'm into you, too,” Isco said, as calmly as he could manage.“I mean, I thought that was obvious. I spent two hundred euro to come fuck you.”“Well,” Isco whispered, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV before crawling into Franco’s lap, straddling him. “Let's not waste any of that money, shall we?”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back to torture you some more!
> 
> Just a few disclaimers:  
> \- The characters in this story are from the first part of the same series.  
> \- The style remains the same with the chapter titles being song lyrics.  
> \- There are plenty of references to the first part. For example, this chapter references chapters 2 and 17. If you haven't read it or if you get confused or lost along the way, drop me a comment and I'll direct you to the right chapter!  
> \- Unfortunately, Isco Jr. does not exist in this universe.  
> \- I am very sad that I do not get to write about Isco Jr.  
> \- Due to the nature of their relationship, a lot of sexy time is gonna happen especially in the opening chapters.  
> \- Chapter number is not fixed because we all know by now I am a rambler and you cannot trust me when I say it's 12 chapters.  
> \- This representation of self-discovery (especially Franco being aromantic) is by no means a general representation. I don't mean to paint a complete picture of what all aromantics experience. And I don't mean to offend anybody. If I write something wrong or offensive, please drop me a comment!  
> \- This is my first time, ever, writing something that is as non-canon as this. It's so non-canon that [this picture right here is the only known photo of the both of them](http://www.vivelohoy.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/636063767545670492-860x651.jpg) (yes, they wear the same number and the same boots, it's fate). It's like, zero canon. Negative canon. -22 canon.  
> \- I wrote most of this while being in my obsessive Bastille and Sleeping At Last phase, so this work is heavily influenced by their music (most evidently in the chapter names).
> 
> That's it for now, I'll add more things in the next chapters if I think of any. I hope you enjoy! :)

The first time Franco saw Isco, Isco was waiting at the airport together with all his Spanish teammates. Isco was the first one to meet his partner. He was also the first one Franco saw, and the moment he did, he knew the other Spanish players were nearby because he thought, immediately, _what the fuck, that’s exactly what a typical Spanish footballer looks like._ It wasn’t even because of the Spanish crest on his shirt.

Even though he was like, sixteen, he already had a five o’clock shadow. It suited him. Franco thought maybe it would end up as a permanent feature on his face.

He was small but loud. Franco thought maybe all the growth hormones had gone to his facial hair instead of his height.

He smiled all the fucking time and never seemed to stop talking. Franco stayed far, far away from him because he couldn’t imagine speaking to Isco without getting tired in three seconds.

Franco only spoke to him once, when they had been put on the same team.

“Which side do you play?” Isco asked.

“Left,” Franco said.

“Left-footed?”

Franco nodded.

“Nice. I play on the right,” Isco said, seeming pretty pleased that they didn’t need to compromise on anything. Franco didn’t know how to continue the conversation. He stood there silently until Isco continued, “Are you left handed?”

“Uh,” Franco said. “No.”

And then Isco launched into an entire theory about how left handed people should have a stronger left foot, and vice versa, and _oh God,_ Franco was literally so _helpless._ He just stood there until they were finally called to start the match, which was when he managed to escape from Isco’s blabbering.

They played pretty well together on either side of attacking midfield. But that was the complete extent of their interaction in 2009.

The second time Franco saw Isco, he was literally an uninvited guest.

He was standing at Paulo’s front door with Alvaro, having flown all the way from Madrid to surprise him for his birthday. They hadn’t even informed Franco, who was the organiser of the party. So, well. That added ‘rude’ to the list of impressions Franco already had of Isco.

But Isco was the first one who caught on that Franco was glaring at Alvaro. He flashed Franco a big grin and Franco didn’t know if he was taunting him or trying to lighten the situation.

His handshake was tight and firm even though his hand was tiny.

Franco watched as Isco tagged along next to Alvaro and Paulo. He didn’t look out of place at all. In fact, the way he instantly clicked with Paulo was pretty impressive. Franco knew Isco probably supported Alvaro’s relationship with Paulo. He just didn’t know if he supported the platonic or romantic version of it.

When Alvaro left to God-knew-where and Paulo went to entertain some other guests, Isco was left sitting alone on the couch. Franco wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but. But he actually dared to go up and sit next to Isco.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Isco grinned. “Franco, right?”

“Yeah,” Franco said hurriedly. He couldn’t be bothered with any small talk, so he dove right into it. “So, Paulo and Morata.”

“Yeah. He told me about it.”

“Where do you stand?”

“It’s up to Alvaro,” Isco started slowly, like he was thinking of a model answer for Franco. “But I think they really like each other. Alvaro doesn’t realise it but. But the way he looks at Paulo. I can see he likes Paulo a lot.”

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“About?”

“Not playing with Paulo’s feelings.”

“I don’t think I’m in any place to do that. I don’t know Paulo well enough. And I can’t tell Alvaro what to do with his life.”

Franco nodded. Isco seemed like a good guy. Very down-to-earth, despite his seemingly flamboyant self. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m rooting for them, though. If that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t _exactly_ what Franco was asking, but. “I’m only rooting for Paulo until Morata gets his shit together. _Then_ I’ll root for the both of them.”

Isco smiled. “He will. I’ll make him.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t tell him what to do.”

“I’m not going to tell him what to do. I’m going to push him in the right direction and he won’t even see it coming.”

And then he stood up and disappeared towards the direction of the balcony, leaving Franco sitting alone on the couch, slightly confused but mostly mystified.

\------

The first time Isco saw Franco was that training ground match on the third day of training camp.

Isco had desperately tried to get Franco out of his shell. Franco’s partner, Jordi, had told Isco that Franco was tough to crack. Isco had accepted the challenge. He thought he would overwhelm Franco into speaking by showing him how eager he was to strike a friendship. After all, Isco’s biggest talent was his ability to talk for hours without getting thirsty.

His left-handed-left-footed theory didn’t seem to interest Franco one tiny bit. Though, well, Isco had actually just conjured that out of nothing for the sake of a conversation topic. He couldn’t help but smile to himself when he noticed Franco trying to discreetly slither away.

Franco gave him a smile and a shy ‘we’d do pretty well together’ after the match. Isco claimed it as a personal victory.

The second time Isco saw Franco, they were at Paulo’s house and Franco was glaring so hard at Alvaro that Isco was legitimately worried that his eyeballs would fall out and start rolling on the street.

He gave Franco a ‘ _lighten up, buddy_ ’ smile. He was met with no response.

He saw Franco standing alone in the hallway watching as Isco hung out with Paulo and Alvaro. Well, mostly Paulo, because Alvaro was busy talking to Paulo’s mom. And Franco was just. Just staring at them thoughtfully.

Isco’s very first impression of that was that Franco was jealous.

That idea was only reinforced when, seconds after Alvaro left, Franco came and sat next to Isco and immediately asked about Paulo.

Isco told him everything he knew. Which was, well. Basically nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to know about the fuck buddy thing, so he didn’t mention that.

It became more and more apparent that Franco was not jealous. And it made Isco confused as fuck.

And then Franco made that remark about rooting for Paulo and not Alvaro and, fuck. Isco was like, fuck it. He would never understand this guy. It made him frustrated because Isco could read everyone like they were open books. It was his second biggest talent.

He decided that no matter what feelings Franco had for Paulo, there were only a few obvious things he was looking for – that in the end, Paulo was happy, Paulo wasn’t hurt, and Paulo got what he wanted.

And Isco realised that was what Alvaro wanted, too, even if he didn’t know it himself.

So Isco followed Alvaro out to the balcony and tried to talk some sense into Alvaro, but ended up completely losing control and kissing him to make him realise what he really wanted.


	2. It Has Only Just Begun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...GOOD NEWS (?) GUYS - I gave in to my weakness for footballer babies and hence, please disregard whatever I said about Isco Jr. not existing, because he will, and you'll meet him soon :)
> 
> Just like the previous story, this one is also largely influenced by music and I also have sort of a 'theme song' or soundtrack for Franco and Isco. It'll become more evident how the song matches as the story progresses, but I really think this one suits them! I wrote this fic with this song in my mind and it's very appropriate that it also happens to be in the title for this chapter: It's Icarus by Bastille.
> 
> Make of this what you want, but feel free to let me know what you think! ;)
> 
> Title is from Icarus by Bastille.

The third time Franco saw Isco, it was outside Vinovo.

They’d both arrived at the same time, dropped off by their own designated drivers sent by Juve. All the way from Madrid and Palermo, just for the sake of their best friends.

Franco waved at Isco across the parking lot, one hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Isco didn’t see him until he’d walked closer.

“Hey,” Franco said.

Isco stopped walking and squinted at Franco. “Who are you?”

“Franc –“ Franco started, but stopped and frowned when a huge grin started to form on Isco’s face. He stood there under the sun just glaring at Isco.

“I know, Franco Vazquez from Palermo,” Isco laughed. He spoke Spanish. Franco realised he shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Isco pinched a little bit of Franco’s shirt in between his thumb and forefinger and started pulling. “Let’s go inside.”

The walk inside was silent. It made Franco feel a little uncomfortable. Actually, he could tell it made _Isco_ feel a little uncomfortable, too, but in the completely opposite way. Franco was uncomfortable because he _felt obliged_ to say something. Isco was uncomfortable because he _wanted_ to say something.

“So,” Isco finally spoke, as expected. “Vazquez, huh? Any relation to Lucas?”

“To whom?”

“Lucas. Lucas Vazquez. From Madrid.”

“Uh,” Franco said. “Not that I know of.”

A short silence.

“How long have you known Paulo?” Isco asked.

“Since we were in Palermo,” Franco said. “Four years?”

“Cool, cool.”

“You and Alvaro?”

Isco laughed heartily. “So it’s Alvaro now? The last time I spoke to you, you still called him Morata.”

“When he pisses me off, it’s Morata. On good days, it’s Alvaro.”

“Aw, is that a joke you’re cracking?” Isco smiled. He used his finger to flick Franco’s chin. “You’re making a joke. _El Mudo_ is making a joke.”

“Fuck off,” Franco said, swatting Isco’s itchy hands aside. He didn’t even stop to wonder how Isco even knew his nickname. Ugh, he had completely fallen into Isco’s dumb _‘he’ll talk more if you talk more’_ trap. “Answer my question.”

“Since we were babies,” Isco said. “Youth squad.”

Another short silence.

“So, seven or eight years?” Franco asked.

He caught Isco smirking, a _‘fucking finally I got him wanting to know more,’_ smirk. Franco almost rolled his eyes but settled with a mild glare.

“Yeah, about there.”

They got inside and met Paulo and Alvaro, and shit. They were so fucking worried but they looked so _happy._ In all the years Franco had known Paulo, he had never seen Paulo so happy. It was the kind of happiness, ironically, that made Franco not want to waste any time finding his own. Franco had wasted years and years of his life trying to make romantic relationships work. He had spent so much time uncomfortable and worrying that the person he was with wasn’t right for him because they didn’t spark the kind of fond, butterflies-in-stomach feeling he had only read about on the internet. He had spent so much time searching and searching and searching for the kind of happiness described unanimously by all couples, only to realise that he could never find it, it was _never_ going to work out simply because _romantic relationships didn’t make him happy._

To his credit, Franco had tried many times. He’d been with, or tried to be with, really lovely, kind, intelligent, and beautiful people. He’d even clicked with most of them, really enjoyed his time with them. But that was just all to it – he liked being friends with them. Eventually, Franco felt that he would very much rather not be in a romantic relationship because he just _couldn’t feel it_.

He would very gladly be in a purely sexual relationship, though.

Franco liked seeing his friends and family in loving relationships. He supported them. He didn’t cringe at them. But despite all that, Franco was his own person. And he just didn’t feel the need or desire to be in one himself.

Isco and Franco hung around at the door of the room as Allegri addressed his players, each of them leaning on one side of the door frame. And then, as expected, Allegri instructed anyone who was uncomfortable to leave. No one in the room did. It calmed Franco a little, because shit, Paulo was such a good person and he deserved all the good things and Franco would hit anyone who didn’t think so.

He saw Isco pretend to start running away before bursting into quiet snickers when Paulo and Alvaro saw him. And Franco just. He just stared at Isco. He didn’t understand where Isco got all the _fucking energy_ from. Didn’t he get tired? Though Franco supposed, if human relations came as easy to him as it did to Isco, then Franco would probably have just as much energy.

“Fucking weirdo,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Hey,” Isco said, sounding a little hurt. “Rude.”

“You gotta admit you’re weird.”

“Maybe just a little.”

“Not just a little.”

Isco gave a little ‘pfft.’ For some unfathomable reason, Franco felt like he had known Isco forever. In reality, he had barely ever spoken to Isco. Isco was like some mythical creature that appeared on TV once in a while and whom Paulo talked about occasionally. He was a friend of a friend of a friend. But he still felt like they knew each other. He felt comfortable enough to tease Isco, for one. And they played roughly the same roles in Alvaro and Paulo’s relationship.

Paulo and Alvaro popped over once Allegri was done speaking, and God. Franco was so relieved. He didn’t think he could handle one more second of Isco’s weirdness on his own.

“Hey, you two,” Isco said, a characteristic grin on his face. “You’re gonna ace this.”

“Yeah?” Paulo said. “Thanks.”

“So glad you’re here, this guy’s been glaring at me since we arrived,” Isco said in this horribly exaggerated fake whisper, jabbing one of his fingers at Franco.

Franco narrowed his eyes. “I’m not _glaring_ at you.”

“Don’t worry, Franco doesn’t bite,” Alvaro said, which, well. Was pretty big, coming from _him_. Franco had spent literally almost every second he’d known Alvaro giving Alvaro _hell_. Alvaro turned to Paulo with this horribly _naughty_ look on his face. “Does he?” he asked excitedly.

“Alvaro!” Paulo almost yelled. “Fuck! What the fuck! That’s totally inappropriate!”

And Franco couldn’t help but burst into laughter because fuck, even if he wasn’t looking for one himself, a relationship like Alvaro and Paulo had was really the cutest. He watched Alvaro smile fondly at Paulo. He saw Isco start laughing, too, and gazing affectionately at the both of them.

“I don’t think I want to hear the answer to that,” he said.

“I _don’t bite,_ ” Franco proclaimed. “In whatever way.”

“Sure, sure,” Isco said. He didn’t sound sarcastic. He sounded more like he knew they probably shouldn’t be talking about this here, which, well. Wasn’t something Franco had expected from him. He pinched Franco’s shirt between his fingers again, and pulled him towards some empty chairs. “Come on. Let’s watch these two kick ass.”

They sat down quietly in two empty chairs, and. And Isco launched immediately into a new conversation topic.

“So, you and Paulo,” he said. Franco sort of knew what was coming. “You guys.”

“How did you know about that?”

Isco shrugged. When Franco glared at him again, he relented, “Uh, I sort of. Heard things. From Alvaro.”

“Fucking Morata.”

“Look, I won’t talk about it if you’re not comfortable.”

Franco sighed. See, this was why he felt like he’d known Isco forever. They knew things about each other. Well, Isco seemed to know a lot more about Franco than Franco did about him. But anyway.

“It’s okay. I feel like we’ve been friends a long time, for some reason.”

“Yeah?” Isco grinned. He turned his body in his chair so he was leaning towards Franco. And to his credit, Franco stayed put. Didn’t even cringe. “So, you and Paulo. Since you met?”

“Yeah. That was kinda how we got close.”

“You two are close?”

“Well, I flew all the way over here from Palermo, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, no, I just thought,” Isco shrugged again. “You know. That fuck buddies shouldn’t get too close.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“You know, when I saw you at Paulo’s house – do you remember when we met at Paulo’s house?”

“Could never forget.”

“Yeah, when I saw you at Paulo’s house, I thought you were jealous.”

“What?” Franco exclaimed. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You were sort of glaring at us.”

“Chances are, I was just glaring at Morata because he’s a little shit.”

“But anyway, I thought you liked Paulo. And then when I heard from Alvaro that you and Paulo had that…that thing. It just sort of, you know. It made me confused.”

“I don’t like Paulo. I don’t _like_ anyone.”

“So you weren’t trying to pry Paulo away from Alvaro?”

“For fuck’s sake, Alarcon, I don’t like Paulo in that way. Why do you even care?”

And then Isco just. Just shut up. Which made Franco kind of worried, honestly, because he never imagined Isco could shut up.

“Sorry,” Franco finally said.

Isco gave a small smile. He was back in his own chair now and not invading Franco’s personal space. “So, it’s Alarcon when I piss you off?”

“Yeah.”

Another short silence.

“It’s just,” Isco started again. “I didn’t think…people could care so much about each other, and have sex, and not actually have feelings for one another.”

“Then you don’t know much, Alarcon.”

“Did you ever?” he asked. “Like Paulo?”

“No,” Franco said, more calmly than he’d expected himself to be. “I don’t…feel that way. Not towards Paulo. Not towards anyone. Okay? And Paulo has always been in love with Alvaro. Even if I did like him, I never stood even the tiniest chance.”

“Yeah,” Isco said thoughtfully. “Fuck, they’re so fucking in love it’s gross.”

“I know,” Franco laughed. “I think they’ve been in love since they met.”

“Fuck, I fucking know, in Madrid,” Isco said. “I don’t even remember my own partner, but I always, for this reason, remembered that Paulo and Alvaro were partners.”

“They’re like, relationship goals.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Isco exclaimed, smacking Franco on the shoulder. “I said that to Alvaro.”

“They are, though.”

“I thought you didn’t _like_ anybody.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate true love.”

“Yeah, fuck, they’re so cheesy. In a good way.”

“Um,” Franco said. “Shit, are they looking at us?”

They both peered towards the direction of the doorway and found that Paulo and Alvaro _were_ looking at them. Franco gave them a little encouraging wave. Isco did the same.

It was silent again until Allegri, Alvaro, and Paulo took their seats, as observed on the TV in the room.

Right before the press conference started, Isco turned to Franco again.

“So, you got a new fuck buddy now, after Paulo?”

“Nope,” Franco said.

Isco said nothing. When Franco turned to him, he was smiling this mysterious smile.

Franco rolled his eyes. This guy was ridiculous. It was no wonder he and Alvaro were such good friends.

\------

They managed to convince Paulo and Alvaro to let them go out on their own.

Isco caught Franco flashing a _‘help me’_ look over his shoulder as he was dragged away by Isco. He thought, wow. Franco actually had a funny side.

“Just ‘cause they’re the first ones to come out doesn’t mean they’re the only ones who can be gay,” Isco remarked. “They can't be our parents, they're younger than us.”

It made Franco burst into laughter. Mission accomplished.

Isco actually looked forward to hanging out with Franco. They’d had a good time together in the TV room, even though it was only for like, thirty minutes. And he’d heard Franco answering some of the journalists’ questions; he sounded really kind and professional at the same time, a balance that Isco had never managed to achieve.

He also seemed like a very snarky person, but who was Isco to say anything about that? Isco was full of sarcastic comments himself. Maybe that was why they clicked.

They went for a stroll on the Turin streets for a while, both taking the same amusement at people who did double takes upon seeing them. They were both recognised at the same time.

Along the way, Franco confessed, “I thought you’d be the one receiving more attention, since you’re so popular.”

“Well,” Isco said. “ _You’re_ the one playing in Serie A.”

A long pause from Franco, then, “True.”

Isco felt strangely satisfied that he’d made Franco shut up. Even though Franco was mostly quiet. Maybe it was because almost every time Franco opened his mouth, something mean came out of it.

On their way back to their hotel they played a game where they counted which of them made people stop in their tracks more times. They ended up squabbling – _again_ – about who was the one who’d caused all the halting.

“She was smiling at _me_ ,” Franco claimed.

“She was smiling at _both of us_ ,” Isco retorted.

“It was me. It was totally me. She had it written all over her face.”

“I’m the more popular one here.”

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have told you that. You’re gonna use it against me.”

“Fuck you, you already got that old guy who was totally staring at _me_.”

“You are literally the only person on earth who likes to have old men staring at you.”

“Fuck you,” Isco said again, shoving Franco so hard Franco almost laughed his way off the sidewalk.

They got back to the hotel in one piece, fortunately. They were greeted kindly by the concierge as they got to the lift. Franco pressed the button for thirteen. Isco pressed eighteen.

“Hey,” Franco said as the lift started its ascent. “You got a girlfriend?”

“Not right now,” Isco said. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Relationships are hard. I’ve never been in one that lasted more than five months.”

“Yeah? You giving up on them?”

“No, I’m not like you.”

A short, awkward silence.

“I didn’t give up,” Franco said sharply. “I’ve just never felt the joy of being in one.”

Isco didn’t reply. The lift stopped whirring when it reached the thirteenth floor and the doors rolled open.

Franco walked through them with a soft murmur of, “Bye, Alarcon.” He didn’t turn back.

\------

Isco got into bed after a long warm shower to find his text inbox spammed with people asking him about Alvaro.

He replied all of them as well as he could. Isco rambled to people more than he liked to. He tried to keep his messages short.

Alvaro had sent him that photo of the four of them together: Isco, Alvaro, Paulo, and Franco, in that order. The height difference made them look weird, like they were four piano keys. Isco shifted his attention to Franco, who was smiling eagerly at the camera. He had a kind smile and really bright brown eyes. He was a nice person, even if the way he spoke made him appear otherwise. And although Isco didn’t want to admit it, he was mystified by this guy. Franco exuded this calm yet defensive aura, like he was repressing some things. Isco knew he was ultra-protective over Paulo because Alvaro had complained about that way too many times. He also knew Franco was totally chill towards everything. He didn’t get frantic or worried. He was just. Just so chill.

But then again, that was all Isco knew. Franco had almost completely cut himself off from the world. Maybe he was just who he was: a pure introvert. It wasn’t like Isco was some kind of mind reader.

Nevertheless, he had to admit that he liked talking to Franco. Franco just had a completely different outlook on life. He seemed to know what he wanted. What he needed. He seemed to care about his friends a lot.

Isco sighed, shaking his head to clear these thoughts. Why was he even thinking about Franco in the first place? He opened Instagram and started to post that photo of the four of them.

_Proud of you brothers! #pride #relationshipgoals_

He posted it and tapped on the search button, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a few seconds before he typed in the search bar, _Franco Vazquez._

Franco was the first result, fortunately, with the blue verified tick.

Isco clicked ‘follow’ before he could think too much about it.

He scrolled through Franco’s feed so he wouldn’t go and undo his frantic follow. He saw that Franco had posted the same photo of the four of them. The caption, when translated from Italian, read, _True love knows no boundaries,_ followed by the gay couple emoji, a football, and a rainbow. Isco double tapped it.

Moments later, there was a notification: _fdv2289 started following you._

Swiftly followed by, _fdv2289 liked your photo._

And then, _Message from fdv2289: #relationshipgoals huh? ;)_

 _Said so yourself_ , Isco replied.

_Why are you stalking me?_

_Am not._

_Why are you so obsessed with me?_

_Am not._

_You bored?_

_That’s the only reason why I would search for you on Instagram._

_Fuck you._

_I’m a little hungry. Dinner wasn’t filling. Told you we should have ordered the pasta. We’re in fucking Italy._

_I’m always in Italy. I always eat pasta._

_Well, I don’t._

_Come over. We’ll call room service._

_What’s your room?_

_1309\. Waiting naked in bed._

_Fuck you._

_You wish._

Isco rolled his eyes, but. But he couldn’t help but laugh. _El Mudo_ was making jokes for him. _El Mudo_ was fucking _flirting_ with him.

He threw on a t-shirt and took the lift back down to the thirteenth floor.


	3. Maybe That's What Happens When A Tornado Meets A Volcano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Love The Way You Lie by Eminem ft. Rihanna.

Franco was standing at his door when Isco arrived on the thirteenth floor, holding it open.

“Thought you were waiting naked in bed,” Isco said. “I'm disappointed.”

“I was, until I realised you would have to break the door down to get in.”

Isco smirked. “ _El Mudo_ is joking with me again.”

“You flatter yourself.”

Isco followed him as he went inside. The room service menu was at the foot of Franco’s bed. The TV was turned to some random news channel and muted.

“You clean?” Franco asked.

“Clean?”

“Have you showered?”

“What a weird question to ask a guest,” Isco said.

“Fuck, just say yes and you can sit under my sheets. No and you can sit on them.”

“Are you some sort of neat freak?” Isco rolled his eyes. “I showered.”

“Get in, then,” Franco said, sliding under the sheets himself.

And well. Isco couldn't say it felt normal just sliding into some stranger’s sheets like that. But Franco wasn't just some stranger. And he seemed totally chill, so.

“What kind of pasta do you want?” Franco asked. He was being weirdly talkative. “Carbonara? Arrabiata? Pesto? Aglio Olio?”

“I want something creamy.”

“Meat?”

“Prawns.”

Franco pondered over the menu for a few more minutes before he gave a random ‘okay’ and reached for the phone. He babbled a little Italian in it and hung up.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes. Franco seemed a little uncomfortable. Like he was either thinking of something to say or. Or something else was bothering him. He was fiddling around with the room service menu, dog-earing the edges.

Isco decided to help him. He, as always, said the first thing that came to his mind. “You have really big hands.”

Franco’s fingers stopped moving. He turned to stare at Isco. “What?”

“Your hands. They're like,” Isco held one of his hands up against Franco’s, palm to palm. “One and a half of mine.”

“Well, it's not me. Your hands are tiny as fuck.”

“My hands are normal-sized.”

“They're not. Why are you even looking at my hands?”

“I don't know. I notice things about people. Like. Physical things.”

“So what else have you noticed about me?”

Isco turned and found that Franco was peering eagerly at him, like he was really interested to know the answer and wasn't just asking for fun. It made Isco feel good. It wasn't very often that anyone bothered to listen to his incessant rambling. Alvaro was one of the rare ones who did. And now Franco.

“You're really tall,” Isco started slowly. “And you have big hands and feet, but not in a bad way, just that you're also lean and it makes you look a little like Shaggy. You know, the guy from Scooby-Doo.”

“Fuck you,” Franco laughed, but. But he sounded more amused than offended.

“You're really quiet, though. Makes me feel like I talk too much.”

“You do.”

“I know I do.”

“Hey,” Franco said. “How do you know so much about me?”

“Alvaro’s a big mouth.”

“He didn't tell you about _El Mudo_ , though, right?”

“Nope. Found that out on my own.”

“Stalker.”

Isco shrugged. “I like to know things.”

Franco smiled. “Me, too.”

Well, at least they had that in common.

“What do you know about me, though?” Isco asked.

“Your birthday was a few days ago,” Franco said, his gaze still fixed nervously on the bed. He hesitated a moment before turning to Isco and smiling. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks,” Isco smiled back at him. That was nice. It was on the _El Mudo_ level of personal.

The food arrived thirty minutes later, a piping hot bowl of creamy shrimp pasta for Isco and a burrito for Franco. Isco found brief entertainment in teasing Franco for saying he wasn't hungry and then ordering an entire meal. Franco brushed him off. Isco was getting used to this dynamic.

Franco unmuted the TV when they started eating, so the news played softly in the background. They were talking about Paulo and Alvaro’s press conference.

“This is pretty great, isn't it?” Franco said softly.

Isco turned to him. He had this. This really soft, fond look on his face. It made him look gentler than he already did.

“Yeah,” Isco replied. He turned back to the few strands of pasta he had left. Franco still had like, half his burrito. He was a super slow eater. Isco gobbled up the rest of his food and just. Just sat there and waited.

“Got something to say about the way I eat?” Franco asked after a while.

“Slow,” was all Isco said.

Silence again.

“Hey,” Franco eventually said, after he – thank the heavens – finished his burrito. “Sorry. About what happened in the lift.”

“Nah,” Isco said softly, suddenly realising why Franco had been so talkative – because he wanted to apologise. And he didn’t know how. “I said too much.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“Like you said. I don't know a lot of things.”

“Including how to shut up,” Franco said, and when Isco turned to him again he was smirking. “Just kidding.”

“But…can I ask you something?”

“I'm going to say yes because if I don't, I think you’ll explode from curiosity.”

Isco ignored that. “You know, when you said you don't feel _that way_ about anyone? Did you mean like…right now? Or…or never?”

“I meant never.”

“So you really just. Just don't get what's the point of being in a relationship? It's not that…not that you’re just taking a break?”

“Yeah. I just don't feel that…romance or whatever. Or love. Whatever. I'm not like that.”

“Is that why you're always so cold?”

Franco turned and. And looked Isco right in the eye. It wasn't a glare or anything, but. But Franco somehow had the ability to hold Isco’s gaze just so simply. Isco couldn't tear his eyes away. He suddenly. Suddenly felt so _small_.

“Just because I don't want to be in a romantic relationship,” Franco started, speaking as slowly as he had been eating. “Doesn't mean I can't have other healthy relationships. I have friends. I have several close friends. I have a family whom I love with all my heart. I have perfectly healthy sexual relationships. I'm not cold just because I'm aromantic. I'm not even cold. I've just gotten used to holding efficient conversations. People who offend me, people I don't click with, people who just downright _annoy me_ , don’t deserve my attention. I don’t know how to deal with them, I don’t _have the energy_ to deal with them. The people I spend my time talking to are those I've decided I _want_ to talk to. I'm not cold for any reason. It's just how I am.”

A long, tense silence.

Franco turned back to the TV. He stared at it for a while before taking the empty plate and bowl and placing them on the floor next to the bed.

“And you're still talking to me?” Isco asked.  

“Which part of that did you not understand?” Franco said.

So Isco was his _friend._ He didn't _hate Isco._ He was just an asshole.

Somehow, Isco felt strangely attracted by that.

“How long have you known?” he asked. He felt like. Like he could learn a lot from this guy. After all, Isco was still trying to figure himself out. Even at twenty-four, he was.

Franco shrugged. “When I was nineteen, twenty. Everyone thought it was a phase.”

“But it isn’t.”

Franco smiled, like he was glad Isco got it. “Yeah.”

“But you’re like. You like…sex, yeah?”

“Those are two totally different things.”

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Franco gave a long sigh, but not like he was frustrated. It was like. Like he just couldn’t _help but_ tell Isco everything he wanted to know. “Yeah, I’m. I’m gay.”

“Like…you don’t like girls?”

“I think that’s what gay means, yeah.”

Isco stayed quiet for a while. He suddenly just. Just ran out of things to say. It made him uncomfortable because, well. Isco _never_ ran out of things to say.

Franco suddenly leaned over and nudged Isco’s shoulder with his own. “What about you? I don’t know anything about you.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah, no, I just. I don’t know what I am. And I don’t know who to talk to about it. I mean, I could talk to Alvaro, I guess, but he’s just as confused about himself so it’d be no use at all.”

“Uh,” Franco said. “You could talk to me, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I mean, not that I’m an expert or anything.”

“Okay,” Isco said, pausing before blurting everything out at once. “I’ve only ever been in short relationships which ended up not working out. But not because I don’t like being in relationships. It’s more of, the person wasn’t right. But I’d still like being in one, I’m still waiting for the one big, explosive, fulfilling relationship to come my way. I just haven’t found the right person to do it with.”

“Mmhmm,” was all Franco said, like he expected Isco to have more. He was right.

“And I…” Isco took a deep breath. “I think about sex, like. A lot. I think about it a lot. Not just with girls. With guys, too, fuck, you can ask Alvaro about it, he’s sick of me talking about it. He’s sick of me like, sexualizing everything. Sexualizing every single one of our teammates. But even though I do this a lot, it’s just. Just not everything to me. Sometimes I feel like it’s like that, that all I need in any relationship I have is just sex. It would be so easy. But over time I keep proving myself wrong. I jump at the opportunity, every time someone comes into my life and gives me those feelings and she seems like she could be the right one. And not because like, I want to have sex with her. Because I would really, genuinely want to be with her. And I want a family, a full family one day. It makes me feel…so alive. Being in a relationship. But I never seem to be able to hold one. It never seems to work out. And. And I don’t know.”

“You know I can’t tell you what you are, right?” Franco said softly. “So I’m just. Just going to think aloud with you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re…definitely not asexual,” Franco gave a little laugh. “Maybe too sexual. I don’t know. I think about sex a lot, too. But anyway,” Franco cleared his throat. “I guess it’s just exactly what you said. You haven’t met the right person. Maybe stop looking for her, or him. Then when they come along, it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Isco smiled. That was practically the nicest thing Franco had ever said to him. “Yeah, I guess that would be nice,” he said.

“Would you, like,” Franco waved his hand in a vague gesture. “Want to be with a man? In a relationship?”

“You see, that’s where I’m confused. I would, you know. Gladly have sex with a guy. I mean, I’ve slept with quite a few guys. And fuck, I even kissed Alvaro once. But being in a relationship is just completely different. I don’t know if I want that.”

“It’s okay,” Franco said. He didn’t even appear surprised that Isco had kissed Alvaro before. “You don’t have to get it right now.”

“But I’m getting old. And I still don’t know what I want.”

“We never truly know what we want,” Franco said.

“ _You_ know what you want,” Isco pointed out.

Franco only gave him a wry smile before standing up and carrying the tray to place on the floor outside the door. He just stood next to the bed when he returned, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his boxer shorts, like he was trying to hint to Isco that he should leave.

Isco got up before another sarcastic comment could escape Franco’s mouth. He made his way silently to the door as Franco followed.

“Well,” Isco said, his hand on the knob. “Thanks for talking to me. For letting me talk to you.”

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. It was nice and warm and encouraging. And Isco suddenly. He suddenly _didn’t want to leave_. He desperately racked his brain for a way to tell Franco that he didn’t want this to be the end of their friendship.

“Maybe we could talk again soon.”

“Sure.”

They stood at the door doing nothing. Saying nothing. Isco gave the knob a slight twist.

And felt Franco’s hand on his elbow, stopping him.

“Hey,” he said. “You know how you said you think about sex all the time?”

“Yeah?”

“When you said you noticed I have big hands,” Franco continued, his voice suddenly really low and raspy, like he was afraid there was someone eavesdropping on the other side of the door. “Were you thinking about it?”

And well, _fuck_. Isco couldn’t possibly say yes and admit he was turned on by big, veiny hands. But.

But he also couldn’t say no, because that would be lying.

So he got brave, he stole some of Franco’s fucking _audacity,_ and he looked Franco right in his bright brown eyes and he said, “Yeah, I was thinking of them all over my body.”

Franco’s dark gaze faltered slightly before he took a huge step forward and Isco had no other choice but be pushed right to the corner between the two walls. He let go of the doorknob when he realised. When he realised that Franco’s hands were now curling around his biceps, almost going all the way around them.

To his credit, Franco looked like he was fighting it. Like he was fighting back the urge. But that credit was taken away when he _failed._

“Fuck you, Alarcon,” he breathed, his teeth gritted. His hands squeezed Isco’s biceps more tightly.

And then he leaned over, closing the gap between both their faces, and _kissed Isco._

It wasn’t the sort of gentle kiss that Isco had expected a first to be. It was raw and hungry and _angry,_ like Franco was truly mad at something Isco had done but which Isco had no idea about. It was more teeth than anything else, but not in the bad way, not in the clumsy, teeth crashing together way. It was teeth pulling on his lips and grazing his chin. It was a hunger that Isco had never felt before, an all-consuming sense of desire. Isco wondered if Franco was like this to all the men he slept with.

But only briefly, because Franco slid one of his hands under the back of Isco’s shirt, and _fuck_ , Isco was gone. He felt the warmth from Franco’s palm rapidly spread across his back and all over his body, like streaks of lightning. Franco spread his palm and pulled so Isco was all pressed up against him, and fuck. Isco could feel his boner.

He exhaled sharply into Franco’s mouth. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“You want to, yeah?” Franco whispered.

“Fuck,” Isco said again. He couldn’t say no, because that would be lying. “Fuck, yes.”

Franco guided Isco backwards until the back of his knees touched the bed. Franco lowered Isco down over the sheets – well, he didn’t so much _lower_ Isco as he practically _threw_ Isco down on the bed and crawled over him, sitting down on his abdomen.

“Open your eyes,” Franco demanded, and fuck. Isco never knew he enjoyed being ordered around like that. “Top or bottom?”

“Bottom,” Isco managed to say without choking.

“Good,” Franco said, like he was pleased that they didn’t need to compromise on anything.

Franco lifted Isco’s shirt slowly, his hands wrapped around either side of Isco’s ribs, caressing Isco’s skin slowly – fuck, Isco bet he was fucking doing it on purpose. Isco lifted his back off the bed to get more of it. To get more of Franco’s gigantic hands. Franco gave a little chuckle, his fingers squeezing gently as they ran a few more times up and down Isco’s abdomen, his thumbs running over Isco’s nipples. He eventually tugged Isco’s shirt off over his head.

“Fuck you,” Isco wheezed between his teeth. He grinded his hips against Franco’s as much as he could. “Fuck you.”

“Patience,” Franco whispered, and when Isco opened his eyes he saw this smug look on Franco’s face.

He took off his own shirt, and Isco’s greedy hands instinctively placed themselves on Franco’s abs. His hands looked so tiny on Franco’s big, lean body. He gently ran his hands all over Franco’s body, nonetheless, and felt a little share of Franco’s smugness when Franco gave a loud hiss.

Franco slid one of his hands under the waistband of Isco’s trousers and retrieved Isco’s dick from under it – and fuck. His hand wrapped around Isco’s length was. It was really nice to look at. Isco gave a gasp as Franco started to stroke him, his back lifting off the bed as he grabbed two fistfuls of the sheets on either side of him.

With his other hand, Franco slid Isco’s pants down his legs and dumped it somewhere on the floor. He wiggled out of his own boxers and crouched between Isco’s thighs, and – and lowered his lips around Isco’s cock, and fuck, it almost blew Isco’s fucking mind. Franco’s lips were soft and wet and his tongue was swift, swirling around Isco’s entire length as he lowered himself all the way until his lips touched Isco’s balls, and then slowly back up until he could run his tongue over Isco’s slit. He repeated it over and over again, seemingly relishing every choking breath Isco took. Every incoherent mumble. Every breathless gasp. He got Isco so fucking _hard_ , and Isco didn't remember anyone ever making him this hard this quickly. But that wasn't enough for Franco. He continued, up and down and around, until Isco was practically shaking and leaking precome right onto Franco’s lips but all Franco did was open his eyes and hold eye contact with Isco, and fuck. Isco was so gone. He was so gone.

But he wasn't going to _beg_ Franco – fuck, Isco would literally beg anyone in the entire world _except Franco_. He wasn't going to let Franco have even a tiny sliver of that satisfaction. Franco wanted to play this game, and he’d get to play it. He wanted to make Isco give in, make Isco beg, and Isco was hell bent on not letting him win.

Instead, he waited for Franco to surface for some air and grabbed Franco’s head, yanking on it hard enough so that Franco crawled up Isco’s body until they were face to face. He pressed his lips on Franco’s and shoved his tongue into Franco’s mouth. If this was a challenge of dominance, Isco definitely wasn't going to lose. Not to an asshole like Franco. He could wait, he guessed. Despite the fact that Isco was hard as _fuck_ and could practically come if Franco just licked him right, Isco could wait. Especially if it meant it got Franco mad.

“Fuck my face,” Isco whispered.

Franco squeezed his eyes shut. His hips jerked uncontrollably against Isco’s, dicks brushing together. “Fuck you, Francisco Alarcon.”

“I’m telling you to,” Isco breathed.

Franco gasped into Isco’s mouth, like he was simply shocked at Isco’s audacity. He pressed his lips on Isco’s again, briefly, before he got up and shimmied up Isco’s body so he was sitting on Isco’s chest, his dick nudging Isco’s lips open.  

Isco took him gladly, his hands moving to grab Franco’s thighs when Franco lifted his hips so he could rock against Isco’s face. He let Franco control his own speed until he got too eager and started thrusting himself hard into Isco’s mouth, and shit, Franco might not have a gag reflex but Isco sure did.

“Shit, fuck,” Isco gasped hoarsely, pulling Franco out of his mouth. “Shit.”

Franco bent over and. And kissed all the coughs out of Isco. It was surprisingly tender, especially from Franco.

“Sorry,” he whispered as Isco started breathing again, inhaling and exhaling loudly through his mouth and into Franco’s.

“Can't resist me, can you?”

Franco slapped him hard on the shoulder. He lifted his hips off Isco’s chest and nudged Isco’s lips with the tip of his dick again.

Isco took the cue. He let Franco fuck his mouth again, gently at first, and then into his cheek. He gripped Franco’s thighs so hard he was pretty sure he was going to leave bruises on them. And Franco’s hands. Franco’s hands were all over, up and down Isco’s shoulders and neck and face and finally in his hair, tugging and twisting.

Franco began to taste saltier, leaking straight into Isco’s mouth. Isco let it mix with his spit at the bottom of his mouth before pushing Franco out again and on his back. He crawled over Franco and spit the precome-spit mixture back on Franco’s dick, watching as the thick liquid flowed slowly down his entire length, watching as Franco’s gaze turned so _dark_ Isco wasn't sure if he was actually seeing anything anymore. Isco moved his hands to Franco’s elbows and squeezed hard, so hard that Franco’s bones cut into his palms but Isco just wouldn't let go. He _couldn't_ let go. He could feel Franco’s veins fucking _throbbing_ and shit, it fucking turned him on even more.

He lowered his lips over Franco again, sucking the mixture back into his mouth. Franco gave a loud hiss followed by a little tortured murmur. He thrust his hips upwards, fucking into Isco’s cheek again. Isco let him for a while before stopping him – because fuck, firstly, he wanted to hear Franco growl again, and secondly, a part of him wanted Franco to ask for it.

Surely enough, Franco said in a desperate sound that rumbled at the bottom of his throat, “Francisco.”

Isco smiled to himself. He lowered his lips again, but this time just enough to take in Franco’s tip. He ran his tongue over Franco’s slit and heard Franco give a loud gasp, so he did it again. And again. And again, coupled with one of his hands violently stroking the rest of Franco’s length and the other cupping Franco’s balls.

And then, just as suddenly as this entire thing had started, Franco came. His hips buckled as he curled up on himself, leaning over Isco, grabbing fistfuls of Isco’s hair and tugging on it to pull Isco aside before his come could land on Isco’s face. But it was too late and a few warm drops had already landed on Isco’s cheek and the rest in Isco’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Franco muttered, throwing his head back as his hips struggled to pump his dick into Isco’s hand, to force the rest of his orgasm out of himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“You’re easy, aren’t you,” Isco gasped, breathless, as he squeezed the last drop of come out of Franco’s dick and watched it roll down his length.

Franco scoffed. “You have come on your fucking face.”

And Isco briefly considered thinking of a witty reply but decided not to offend Franco because then maybe _he_ would have to beg for his own orgasm. So instead he started to wipe the come off his cheek, fingertips straining to get the drops in his beard, but he was stopped when Franco grabbed his wrist and wiped it off himself, nudging his fingers into Isco’s mouth to make him suck it off.

Isco discreetly started rubbing his crotch against Franco’s leg that he was straddled over. He saw Franco smile and felt Franco cup his chin, squeezing and pulling to drag Isco up on his chest.

He let Isco fuck into his mouth and proved, yet again, that he did not have any kind of gag reflex whatsoever. Isco even went slowly at first, trying not to choke Franco, but after realizing that Franco could take his entire length without any effort at all, started to thrust his hips harder and quicker, listening as his balls slapped against Franco’s chin. He grabbed a handful of Franco’s – surprisingly soft – hair and tugged, tightening his grip whenever Franco did some fucking magic with his tongue. And honestly, Franco did a lot of that. He was. He was fucking good at it. His tongue swirled and flicked at Isco’s length as he brought it in and out, wrapping itself around, moistening it, teasing the tip.

And just watching Franco, just watching the look of thorough concentration on Franco’s face, it was fucking arousing. Isco took his bottom lip between his teeth to stop himself from literally crying out loud. He couldn’t help but give a little gasp, though, when Franco opened his eyes and saw him watching, and caught Isco’s gaze and _refused to let it go._

So Isco came, he came while looking into Franco’s dark eyes and finding no way out of them; he came just after pulling out of Franco’s mouth, his come landing all over Franco’s neck. He came as he buckled over Franco, grabbing Franco’s head and pressing it against his abdomen.

When he regained decent consciousness he found Franco reaching for his dirty t-shirt to wipe the come off his neck. Isco stopped him. He made Franco taste it just like how Franco had made him.

“Fuck you,” Franco whispered once he’d sucked Isco’s fingers dry. “Get the fuck off me.”

“Are you this mean to every guy you fuck?”

“I’m not mean.”

“You are, too.”

“It’s just how I talk. Here, have a hug from dear old Franco,” he said, reaching over to grab Isco right after Isco had climbed off him, and wrapping him up in his freakishly long arms.

“Fuck off,” Isco laughed. “Hey, I thought you can’t get into bed when you’re dirty,” he said as Franco burrowed his way back underneath the sheets.

“I’m not dirty. Come is different from dirt on the streets.”

And, well. Isco couldn’t argue with that. “Can I sleep here?”

“Yeah,” Franco said, and Isco was briefly surprised at how easy that seemed to have been. Franco realised it too, so he shrugged. “Remember when I asked you if you’re a top or a bottom?”

“Yeah?”

“You think we’re done for the night? I’m gonna make that matter.”

Isco opened his mouth to say something, but shut it when he realised that Franco had basically just said they were going to have sex again. Before the next morning, because that was when they were returning to their respective cities and probably not seeing each other again for, like. Forever.

Franco gave a little snicker when Isco didn’t respond. Isco reached for his pants on the ground and dug in it for his phone, noticing that there was a text from Alvaro about ten minutes ago. While, you know, he was busy coming all over Franco.

 _Wanna hang?_ it said.

 _Busy,_ Isco replied.

_With Franco?_

_Yeah._

_Where?_

Isco sighed. He didn’t know if he was supposed to tell Alvaro about this. Franco already thought he was a busybody. Plus, he had no idea how private this was supposed to be. Isco had always lived his life with no filter and no protocol. He had made far too many mistakes because of that.

 _You two fucking?_ Alvaro sent when Isco didn’t reply.

Isco sighed again. He began to type something, but erased it when it didn’t make any sense. Of course Alvaro thought they were fucking. Paulo probably thought that, too. Isco locked his phone, and then unlocked it. And stared at the conversation some more, wondering what to type. Lock, unlock. Sigh.

Franco, who had been fiddling with his own phone just a few minutes ago, turned around and narrowed his eyes. “What’re you on about?”

“Alvaro’s asking if we’re fucking,” Isco said, straightforward.

“Do you want him to know?”

“Wouldn’t hurt, I guess?” Isco shrugged. “He’s my best friend.”

“So tell him then,” Franco said, turning back to face the other way. Isco unlocked his phone to stare at the conversation some more, the rectangle of light casting a glow on the ceiling. “Fuck, turn the fucking thing off, I’m trying to sleep,” Franco grumbled. _God,_ that guy had OCD or something.

“What should I say to him?”

It was Franco’s turn to sigh. He grabbed Isco’s phone. “Mind if I see?” he asked. Isco shook his head. Franco took a quick look at their conversation before typing a reply. “You’re okay with telling him, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isco said.

Franco hit send. When he returned the phone, Isco saw that he’d sent, _Grass is green, Morata._

Isco burst into laughter. Franco wasn’t that bad. He gave a good blowjob, for one. And he was fucking hilarious. “Fucking hell, they’re probably freaking out right now.”

“Yeah?” Franco laughed, turning to face the ceiling. “I bet they are. Hey, I don’t bite, yeah? Tell him that. Tell him I don’t bite.”

Isco thought about their first kiss. About how it was all teeth. “You kinda do,” Isco pointed out.

Franco turned around briefly. “Yeah, well, I didn't bite your fucking dick off, did I?”

And okay, so he didn't. In fact, he had been far from doing that. His mouth was fucking magic. And there hadn't been any blood on Isco’s lips, anyway.

So Isco typed, _Franco doesn’t bite,_ and hit send, and the both of them continued sniggering to themselves about how freaked out Paulo and Alvaro were going to be.

“Hey,” Isco said as Franco appeared to be drifting off to sleep. “Don’t forget you owe me another round.”

“Yeah, set an alarm for it,” Franco said, reaching blindly for his phone. He showed Isco the alarm he’d made for 12 midnight, about two hours later. Below the alarm, Isco saw the title Franco had given it: _Reminder, I’m the top._

Isco shoved the phone so it landed with a thump on Franco’s chest, rising and falling with Franco’s laughter. Franco placed it aside and turned his back to Isco again, his arms pressed into his chest and his long legs curled up on himself. “Night, Alarcon. Fuck you later.”

Isco rolled his eyes – but playfully – and turned the other way. He was ridiculous. Franco was fucking ridiculous.


	4. Look Who's Digging Their Own Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Icarus by Bastille.

Franco requested that he and Isco take the same car to the airport instead of different cars. It was mainly because he wanted to laugh at Isco’s reaction. But also because he thought it’d be nice to be able to say bye to him.

He watched through the tinted windows as the Juve official told Isco that he’d be sharing the same car as Franco. Isco looked thoroughly confused before dragging his luggage to the waiting car and opening the door.

“What is this?” he asked as he slipped into the backseat next to Franco.

“What?” Franco asked, hurt. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Isco said slowly. He relaxed in his seat. “I had fun yesterday.”

“Me, too,” Franco smiled. “What time’s your flight?”

“Half past eleven. You?”

“Eleven.”

“Breakfast together?”

“Sure.”

Silence.

“Does your ass still hurt?” Franco asked, to break the silence. He never thought it was something he’d do, but. There he was anyway.

Isco froze. His eyes darted to the back of the driver’s head through the glass partition, and then to the rearview, and then to Franco. “Are we supposed –“

“From falling down those stairs,” Franco said with a smirk. It was okay if Isco didn't want to talk about it in public, even though the driver couldn't hear them.

A slow smile spread across Isco’s face as he caught the gist of it. “Nah, not anymore, the stairs aren't good enough to leave me sore the next day, you know?”

“Wow, fuck you,” Franco laughed, shoving him in the shoulder. “Fuck you. That surely wasn’t what you were thinking last night.”

Isco started laughing, too, and turned to the window, whispering and thinking Franco couldn’t hear him, “It wasn’t.”

Franco punched him in the shoulder one more time. Of course it wasn’t. Judging from all the sounds Isco had made.

The ride to the airport and breakfast itself was filled with lighthearted conversation. Small snippets of each other’s lives. What it was like in Sicily. What it was like in Madrid. Their hopes and aspirations, even. Isco about how he was looking forward to the Euros. Franco about how he was looking forward to making a decision about his national team. And then, for Isco’s benefit (since he couldn’t stop asking), what it was like to feel sexual attraction but not romantic attraction.

Isco started staring at Franco eat again after finishing his food. Okay, so Franco was a slow eater. But the fact that Isco always gobbled up his food didn’t help with anything.

“What?” Franco asked, stuffing a piece of scrambled egg in his mouth.

Isco lifted his chin from his hands briefly to say, “Slow.”

Franco rolled his eyes. “I don’t just swallow like you do.”

“Oh, really,” Isco said, a huge grin suddenly cutting across his face. “You don’t swallow. Really.”

“Fuck you,” Franco chucked a cherry tomato across the table. It bounced off Isco’s shoulder as he laughed heartily.

“Whatever,” Isco shrugged. “I’m not the one with the earlier flight. I’m not the one who’s gonna miss my flight.”

“I’m not going to _miss my flight,_ ” Franco retorted. There was like, an entire hour before the boarding gate closed. But he started eating more quickly, anyway, to appease Isco. “Stop being dramatic.”

But Isco looked at his watch and sighed, and fuck. Franco just took the quarter of scrambled eggs he had left and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. He stood up and grabbed his bag. “Come the fuck on, Alarcon,” he said, walking away. Isco was like. He was like the annoying younger friend everyone encountered at least once in their lives.

Isco jogged after him and slowed his speed as they walked side by side towards the boarding gates. He walked next to Franco silently for a few moments before he asked, “Will we see each other again?”

“What, you’ll miss me?”

“Kinda.”

“We’ll see each other if we want to see each other.”

“Alvaro texted me saying that Paulo called us international fuck buddies.”

Franco laughed. “How’s that going to work?”

“Madrid and Palermo aren’t that far apart.”

“So you’re saying you want this?”

Isco hesitated for a second before his shoulders sagged. “I don’t know, do you?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Franco said. Maybe paying a couple of hundred bucks for the flight to get the kind of sex Isco gave was worth it. Maybe they could work out some kind of deal with all the money. But fuck, this was getting way too much of business and way too little of casual. “Maybe in the summer. We could do it more.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled shyly at the ground. “’Kay. I might be at the Euros but, yeah. We could work something out.”

“You wanna do it one more time to seal the deal?”

Isco’s head shot up. He stared at Franco, blinking a few times, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it correctly. “We’re in an airport,” he finally pointed out, not incorrectly.

“Have you never done it in a public restroom?”

“No…yeah, I have,” Isco stammered, which made it fucking obvious that he _hadn’t._ But he looked pretty eager. And curious. His gaze had darkened, for one, and he was looking at Franco in that way he had the previous night when he’d told Franco he had been imagining Franco’s hands all over his body.

Franco grabbed his arm and dragged him to the nearest restroom, and they happened to be near the end of the terminal so the restroom was the emptiest. Franco pushed open all the cubicle doors to check if there was anyone inside, and then parked both their bags against the wall and pulled Isco into the last cubicle, slamming the door shut. It wasn't that big a cubicle, and the both of them ended up pressed against each other. And Franco thought, fuck, he had to bleach himself three thousand times when he got home.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Isco whispered frantically.

“Hand job only. If you hear anyone coming in, let me know in whatever way possible. And no sound. If you make one single fucking sound, I’ll fucking bite you, okay?” Franco said, all in like, three seconds, while he was unbuckling Isco’s belt and trousers as well as he could in the limited space. “And. And you…you want this, yeah? If you don’t, tell me right now.”

“Fuck you, your hand is on my fucking dick, can’t you feel my hard-on?”

And well, okay. Franco _could._ But. “I need to hear consent.”

“Yes, Vazquez, I fucking want this.”

And then he proceeded to smash his lips against Franco’s, sending Franco into this temporary dizzy state and completely distracting him from finishing the deed of stripping Isco of his pants. He eventually found his grip again and tried to rip them off with his underwear, briefly getting stuck at Isco’s shoes before he took them off, followed by his shirt, hanging them all on the hook behind the door so they wouldn’t get stained with come or whatever.

Isco tried doing the same for Franco, but fuck, he was so fucking nervous his hands were shaking and Franco had to grab them and put them somewhere else – namely, on Franco’s waist under his shirt – while he took off his own shoes and pants and underwear and shirt and hung it together with Isco’s. Isco didn’t hesitate _at all_ to grab Franco’s dick in his hand, fingers curling tightly around it and giving it a forceful tug. For someone who’d never done it in a public restroom, Isco sure was brave as fuck.

And so Franco did the same, wrapped his hand around Isco’s dick and started stroking him off, quickly pressing their lips together again when Isco made a soft whimper. He shoved his tongue into Isco’s mouth, muting out the sound, and thrust his hips against Isco’s, providing extra friction as their tips brushed together, as well as their hands. Isco opened his mouth wider and just. Just leaned into Franco’s kiss, basically letting Franco do anything he wanted to Isco’s mouth. Which was, well. Literally everything. Isco had a pretty mouth.

But their height difference meant that soon, Franco’s wrist got tired from reaching so far downwards. Isco gave a reluctant little whine when Franco let go of his dick and Franco made good his promise by biting down on Isco’s lip.

“Fuck,” Isco muttered.

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco whispered.

“What are you doing?”

Franco didn’t reply, just grabbed Isco’s thighs as hard as he could and hoisted them around his waist, feeling the both of them shudder at the same time when their cocks brushed against each other. Franco closed the toilet and, after checking the cover was clean, sat down on it, adjusting Isco on his lap.

“Seriously?” Isco asked.

“Speak again and I’ll make sure you board your flight with a bloody lip.”

And that shut Isco right up. Franco moved his hand to grip both of their dicks together, making Isco buckle and collapse on him, their lips meeting sloppily. Isco began to thrust his hips weakly, rubbing his length along Franco’s in this. This amazing friction. Isco’s hands gripped Franco’s shoulders so tightly Franco couldn’t feel them anymore. His thighs, now sweaty, rubbed against Franco’s slightly as he worked his hips. His breaths and kisses, both now incoherent, wandered not only around Franco’s lips but also to his jaw, along his jawline, his chin, Isco’s beard rubbing roughly against Franco’s cheeks. Franco coordinated his strokes with the speed Isco was moving at, and succeeded at sending coordinated shivers up both their spines.

It was eerily silent for a while, like they were clockwork, like they already knew exactly what each other needed. It was just the sound of their desperate breathing and nothing else. Franco leaned back on the cold tile behind the toilet, letting Isco lie on him, his beard still causing burns now on Franco’s neck. He used his free hand to give Isco’s butt a push, making him thrust into the circle Franco’s fingers were making.

And Isco obliged, starting a new, quicker rhythm, his mouth open and teeth slightly biting Franco’s jaw. He worked his hips magically, only the bottom half of his body moving while the top pressed warmly against Franco’s abdomen. And the feeling, the feeling of Isco rubbing all along his length, it made Franco start to leak even more than he already was.

Isco moved his face nearer to Franco’s ear and whispered, “I’m close.”

Franco shut his eyes. He focused all his thought on that feeling, that familiar feeling pooling deep down in his abdomen. The feeling of Isco’s fucking rock hard dick currently rubbing against his. Franco was practically throbbing with want.

He felt Isco buckle over him one last time, and then a warm, thick liquid spill all over his hand as Isco came. He started convulsing slightly over Franco, his lips finding something to surround and eventually finding Franco’s lips again, gasping loud, desperate breaths into Franco’s mouth. He gave a soft little murmur of a word Franco didn't recognize.

Franco opened his eyes to see Isco just. Just staring at him, his eyes wide open, his head pressed against Franco’s, hips riding out the last of his orgasm but just. Just _staring_.

He slid his hand down Franco’s abdomen, his palm swirling the sweat, and then his own come, around. He took over Franco’s hand, but this time only taking Franco’s dick, starting to stroke it hard.

“Come for me, Vazquez,” he mouthed against Franco’s lips, his hand tugging firm, strong strokes along Franco’s dick, fingers tightening with every round.

And then. And then Isco ran his thumb over his slit, pressing down hard, the rest of his hand giving one final, hard stroke – and Franco came. He came more violently than he would _ever_ admit. He bit down hard on Isco’s lower lip, his hands moving to grasp Isco’s butt, squeezing so hard he was sure he’d leave handprints. He pushed his hips desperately against Isco’s, seeking the final bit of friction that would allow him to reach his climax, and getting it. His teeth grazed against Isco’s cheek and felt it curve up in a smile.

Franco opened his eyes again but had to blink a few times to focus because, well. He had basically been sent right up to heaven and back. He saw Isco just sitting there, panting slightly, a proud smile on his face. He brought his slimy fingers up to Franco’s lips and made Franco suck on them, and shit. Franco suddenly really didn’t want to leave.

“Fuck,” Franco muttered, throwing his head back against the wall.

“You’re not so bad,” Isco said, and when Franco glanced down at him he saw a fond look on Isco’s face.

“Missed having a fuck buddy,” Franco said softly, because after all, they were still crammed together in a tiny cubicle without any explanation to anyone outside, except the obvious. “You know, stability. Familiarity. Instead of banking on finding a random guy. Even if this only lasted like, a day.”

Isco gave a little laugh. He climbed off Franco and unrolled like, half of the toilet roll and passed it to Franco to clean up before grabbing some to clean himself up. It was all sticky and messy and they kept clanking elbows and bumping into the walls. Isco gave another soft laugh as he pulled Franco to his feet and opened the toilet to dump all the dirty toilet paper inside.

“We met at two-thirty yesterday. That's like, twenty hours ago. We had like, three orgasms each since then,” he finally said. “Six in total. That’s an average of one orgasm every three hours. That must be some kind of record for two people who’ve just met.”

Franco laughed. That _did_ sound like quite a lot. He gently punched Isco in the cheek. He was pretty fond of this little guy, he guessed. He was a great friend and a nice person. “Get dressed,” he said, redundantly.

They got themselves dry and somewhat clean and dragged on their clothes and shoes. Isco flushed the toilet while Franco crouched down to look under the door for any pairs of feet outside. They were lucky, because there were none. There hadn’t seemed to be anyone who’d walked in while they were doing it.

“I bet there are a ton of germs on that floor you’re currently touching,” Isco pointed out.

“Fuck you, you think I want to do this?” Franco said, standing back up and opening the door. “I’m doing it for you, idiot.”

“I’m touched,” Isco said, going over to the sink to wash his hands and adjust his hair like the vain man he was. He stood there staring judgementally at Franco as Franco washed his hands thoroughly with soap and then slathered a ton of hand sanitizer all over them.

“What,” Franco said. “Like you mentioned, germs.”

Franco turned to the mirror to examine himself and found his cheeks red, both above his beard on his cheekbones and underneath his facial hair. He turned and glared at Isco because well, there could only be one culprit, and Isco had a much thicker beard than Franco did and the beard burn Isco had was barely visible if not non-existent.

Isco burst into laughter when he saw Franco’s expression, and it only grew louder when Franco narrowed his eyes. “I was waiting for you to realise,” he managed to choke.

“Fuck you,” Franco shoved him in the shoulder. He splashed some cold water on the reddest parts, hoping to soothe them even a little. “I can’t board the plane like this.”

“You sure? Because it’s,” Isco checked his watch. “Six minutes before your gate closes.”

“Fuck, are you fucking with me?” Franco yelled in surprise. He grabbed Isco’s wrist and checked the time and found out that Isco was telling the truth. “Holy fuck, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, hey,” Isco grabbed his shoulder before he could leave. “Uh, thanks. For…yeah.”

Franco smiled. He was really warming up to this fucking asshole.

He grabbed Isco’s head in both his hands, leaned forward, and pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on Isco’s lips, taking him completely by surprise.

“Fuck you next time, Alarcon.”

Isco burst into laughter again, and Franco grinned at him as he walked quickly backwards out the restroom. Isco’s smile slowly morphed into a grin, too, and it was warm and fond and kind and it was the last thing Franco saw before the restroom door swung shut.

The guards at the gate were totally judging him for his red face and general haggard look, but let him in anyway. All the passengers on the flight glared at Franco for being the latest as he found his way to his seat.

But at least Franco didn't miss his flight.

He sighed and closed his eyes as the plane began to taxi. He relaxed in his seat. Somehow, it felt too quiet now that Isco wasn't around to jabber in his ear about something random like. Like if chickens ate cooked eggs, was it considered cannibalism? That certainly sounded like something Isco would try to discuss. And Franco hated that he knew _that_ after having known Isco for just one day. Honestly, Franco really liked this guy but he didn't seem to really get him.

Franco briefly considered buying the in-flight Wi-Fi so he could google the answer to that. So he’d have something to break the next silence he and Isco had. Maybe when they talked on the phone, trying to decide their next appointment.

And that was when Franco realised he hadn't exchanged numbers with Isco.

\-----

 _So what if I don't have his number, I have his Instagram,_ was Isco's first thought when he realised he didn't have Franco’s number.

It took him a while to realise that it would be weird to conduct an international booty call over Instagram direct messages.

He briefly considered asking Alvaro for Franco’s number, but. Firstly, he was embarrassed. He’d never had a fuck buddy. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to behave. And secondly, it was rather stupid not to have the contact details of his fuck buddy and Alvaro was going to laugh at Isco for the rest of his life.  

So Isco just left it alone. Part of him expected this, expected them to just give up the entire deal. Franco didn’t seem like the kind of person who would reach out voluntarily. Isco had always seemed more of the one to do that. But this time, Isco really didn’t know what to do.

Well, until three days after they were home, when a notification popped up on Isco’s phone.

_Instagram: fdv2289 sent you a message._

Isco opened it. It was a photograph of a section in the self-care area of some supermarket. The shelves were lined with personal grooming products – namely, _beard grooming products,_ like oil and cream and conditioner and shavers and small posters with tips on how to take care of one’s beard.

 _Found something for you,_ was the accompanying message.

Isco found a smile creeping its way over his face.

 _Fuck you,_ he typed and sent. _My beard is perfectly fine._

_It’s rough as fuck. You need to take care of it._

_I take care of my beard._

_You don’t._

Isco didn’t know how to reply anymore, so he shut the app and locked his phone. He unlocked it again a few seconds later, opened the conversation window, and zoomed in on the photo. He smiled. He didn’t think he would still be in Franco’s mind, out of sexual situations. Maybe he had been right. Fuck buddies could still be friends.

A new message popped up at the bottom of the screen, together with another photo, this one of a random barcode and the numbers below it.

_These are great numbers but the number I really want is yours._

And Isco just. He legitimately burst into laughter because fuck, he’d fallen right into it.

 _Smooth fucker,_ he replied, followed by his phone number.

There was no reply from Franco, but seconds later a new text window popped up, with an unknown number. _Hello,_ was all it said.

 _Who are you?_ Isco sent, just for the fun of it. He saved the number, though, as Franco’s.

The little bar at the top read _typing…_ , and then returned to _online_. And then back to _typing…,_ and back to _online_ , like Franco was suddenly at a loss for words.

Three minutes later, he sent a photo of his own hand, middle finger raised. Captioned, _Maybe you can recognize your favourite hand?_

 _Fuck you,_ Isco sent, laughing.

 _Bet you want to,_ was the reply, followed by, _Hello, Francisco._

_Hello, Franco._

_We have nice names._

_I fucking know, right._

_Fun fact. Google says it’s faster to fly from Palermo to Madrid than the other way around._

_That can’t be right._

_It is. Google it._

So Isco did. And Franco was right. It said it took a half hour more to fly to Palermo.

 _I guess you’re coming here, then,_ Isco replied.

_It doesn’t work that way, idiot. When I fly back, it’ll take longer, too._

_Oh, yeah._

_And it costs two hundred euro for a round-trip._

_We’ll split the cost._

No reply. Franco went offline. Isco opened his browser again and lazily scrolled through all the different flight options. They all cost roughly the same, not that Isco had to worry about money, of course, but. If this was going to be a regular thing, maybe he had to.

About fifteen minutes later, another text from Franco buzzed in.

_How’s next Monday? The 2 nd May._

_Are you serious?_ Isco asked. He felt like with Franco, he would never get to stop asking this question. Because Franco was fucking _unbelievable._

_Ya, tell me so I can book a ticket._

Isco rolled his eyes. He checked his schedule and saw that the following Monday was free, in between his Liga match on Saturday and the Champions League on Wednesday. And he had no guests, no other extra people in his home. Just him, alone, ready to be fucked by Franco.

_Yeah, fine._

_K. See you Monday._

And then he went offline again, and Isco found himself doing the texting version of stammering, typing out messages and then deciding not to send them. Ranging from _seriously what the fuck,_ to _what time will you be here?_ He eventually just shut his phone and dumped it on the table without sending anything. He closed his eyes and thought about it.

He found himself swinging halfway between being swayed by Franco’s intense interest in him and questioning how all of this even came about in the first place.

It wasn’t that Isco didn’t want it – honestly, Isco wanted it too much to believe this was actually happening. That someone was willing to fly fucking hours to have sex with him. Because, yeah, well, Isco would do that too, it was just. Just that Isco had always been one to do reckless things. Franco didn’t seem to be that kind of person.

He was beginning to think that maybe there was way more to Franco than met the eye.


	5. You Look So Pretty But You're Gone So Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Centuries by Fall Out Boy.

Isco was awoken in the early hours of Monday morning by someone simultaneously pounding on his door and jabbing at his doorbell.

He groaned and got up to get the door without thinking about it.

He opened it to see Franco, _a very furious Franco_ , standing on the other side, a cap covering half his face and his light grey hoodie pulled over it.

“You said Monday,” Isco mumbled sleepily.

“It’s Monday,” Franco said, showing Isco his watch. Three fucking am.

“Well, not middle of the fucking night Monday. You could’ve at least waited for a decent hour.”

Franco sighed impatiently. “Can I crash? Talk about it in the morning.”

“Yeah, sleep on the couch or something,” Isco shuffled his feet back inside and found some pillows and a blanket. He came back into the living room to see that Franco had settled on the floor, his duffel bag used as a pillow. “I said the couch,” Isco whined.

“I’m dirty.”

“Take a shower. Whatever. I don’t care. I’m going back to sleep.”

He dumped the pillows and blanket on the couch and went back into the bedroom, falling asleep over the covers once his head hit the pillow again.

\------

Isco woke up five hours later and completely forgot that Franco was in his living room until he was done brushing his teeth and went out to make breakfast.

He brought his sandwich and orange juice to the couch. Franco was _still_ curled up on the ground, his cap laid over his face, curled up on his side, arms crossed over his chest and legs bent in on himself. His limbs looked _ridiculously long._

Isco grabbed the blanket from the couch and wrapped it around him, tucking in the sides so he looked like a burrito. He watched Franco instinctively tug it more tightly around himself, like he had been cold previously, without it.

Isco turned on the TV and scrolled through the channels for a while before giving up on finding something interesting. He turned on the PlayStation and waited for FIFA to load, and while doing so, decided that he’d settle on the floor with Franco as a pillow.

He was halfway through his first game – with Real Madrid beating Palermo 3-1 – when Franco stirred.

Franco struggled to sit up before realizing that the dead weight on him was Isco. He gave a sigh and strained his neck to take a look at the TV before collapsing back on his duffel.

“Get the fuck off me,” he murmured sleepily.

“It’s comfy.”

“You’re going to have to wash this blanket three times.”

“I know,” Isco said half-heartedly, mainly just to humor Franco’s OCD. He was briefly distracted when Franco turned to lie on his chest and jostled Isco – allowing in-game Franco to score against him. “Fuck, Vazquez, you did that on purpose.”

“How did I do that on purpose? I’m not even playing.”

“Fuck you, anyway.”

“You’re a horrible player, just admit it.”

“I am _not._ ”

“Prove it,” Franco said, pushing Isco off him and crawling to the TV console to grab the free controller. “C’mon. Play against me.”

They settled in the same position as before except now they were both facing the TV – Franco lying on his front and Isco draped over him. With ‘winner gets to come first’ as the prize, they started the game.

They ended up drawing 4-4, and Franco won the penalty shootout.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, controller clattering on the floor. “You lose.”

“Pffft,” Isco tugged the blanket off Franco and curled up on it, fuming childishly.

“You can’t say it’s unfair, you fucking used Real fucking Madrid.”

“Fine, fine, _fine,_ ” Isco grumbled. “You want some breakfast first, or?”

“I want my orgasm first.”

So Isco just tugged Franco’s pants off him and blew him until he came, just to get it over with so Franco would stop gloating. He wiped Franco’s come on Franco’s shirt before rolling off and lying beside him.

“Want yours?” Franco asked once he’d gotten himself together.

Isco nodded, so it was his turn to be blown, and then the both of them just. Just lay there, t-shirts still on, panting synchronously, come on their respective abdomens.

“Breakfast?” Isco asked again.

And this time Franco agreed, so they took off their t-shirts to wipe themselves off, and Isco got more bread to make sandwiches while Franco made some coffee, and they settled on the couch to watch a random news channel Franco had found. Completely naked, because why not? After all, it was literally an entire day dedicated to having sex. They didn’t need any clothing getting in the way.

“So, wanna tell me why you woke me up in the middle of the night?” Isco asked. Half to break the silence and half because, well. He really wanted to know.

Franco sighed. “Okay, so there isn't a direct flight from Palermo to Madrid. I needed to make a transfer in Rome. And the morning flight was full so I had to take the one they had yesterday night, and I got here at midnight.”

“Oh,” Isco said. “Well, I'm – I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault, just,” Franco combed his fingers through his hair. And then shrugged.

“You don't want to do this anymore?” Isco asked timidly.

“No, fuck, it's not that. Fuck, we haven't even started,” Franco gave a little laugh. “It's just, I don't know, this sounds fucking dumb, but. D’you think we could, like, meet somewhere else?”

“Like?”

“Like, shit, I don't know. Somewhere there's a direct flight to for both of us,” Franco reached for his phone and opened his browser, fingers hovering over the search bar. “Let's try Rome.”

Of course, there were direct flights to Rome from both Madrid and Palermo. That was how Franco had gotten to Madrid in the first place.

“Fuck you, I'm not going to fucking _Barcelona_ for a fucking booty call,” Isco exclaimed when Franco replaced Rome with Barcelona.

All Franco did was show Isco the phone triumphantly once the search had loaded: direct flights to Barcelona from both Madrid and Palermo.

Despite Isco’s reluctance, Franco continued searching for the cities roughly in between them where they could meet, alternating between giving little satisfied murmurs and disapproving grunts. It all seemed a little over the top to Isco. It wasn't that this was money Isco wasn't willing to spend, because he _was._ It was just. He didn't know. It all seemed so ridiculous.

When Franco finally ran out of cities to search for, he turned to Isco, who asked, “You’re really into this, aren't you?”

Franco’s gaze locked onto Isco’s again, and. And it was no different from the previous time. Isco found himself trapped once more, unable to look away no matter how hard he tried. He wondered how Franco managed to do that.

“I'm into you,” Franco said quietly. “Sexually.”

Isco blinked at him, hoping his gaze wasn't faltering. He wasn't going to show Franco any sign of weakness. Even after knowing what made Franco cry for more, even after knowing he could make Franco as desperate as Isco felt – Isco _wasn't going to show Franco any sign of weakness._

It was like a constant competition, a constant challenge for dominance with Franco. But Isco was totally up for it. He had a feeling he’d have a lot of fun.

“I'm into you, too,” Isco said, as calmly as he could manage.

“I mean, I thought that was obvious. I spent two hundred euro to come fuck you.”

“Well,” Isco whispered, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV before crawling into Franco’s lap, straddling him. “Let's not waste any of that money, shall we?”

He let his lips crash onto Franco’s, feeling and hearing the loud surprised gasp Franco gave, straight into Isco’s mouth. He felt Franco’s hands surround his waist, fingers almost meeting in the small of his back. He felt Franco’s tongue, warm and moist, nudging in between his lips. He slid his hands up Franco's broad shoulders and into his hair, still soft like Isco remembered, and let his fingers grip it firmly, guiding Franco’s languid kisses.

And then Franco suddenly got to his feet, Isco wrapped around him like a koala, and started walking in a random direction.

“Where,” was all Isco managed to say in the single breath he pulled away to take.

“Shower,” Franco said.

“Other way,” Isco directed, and Franco swiveled 180 degrees and started walking into the bedroom and the connected bathroom. “You can't just fucking _carry_ me anywhere you want, you know.”

“You're small,” Franco murmured, lips soft against Isco's neck. “That’s how I like my men.”

“Your men,” Isco repeated, to no further response.

Franco put Isco down when they got to the bathroom. He got into the shower and turned the water on before grabbing the first bottle in sight, which happened to be hair conditioner.

“That’s not soap,” Isco said.

“Fuck,” Franco said, dumping it back on the shelf and impatiently examining the rest of the bottles until he found the body wash. “You have too many things.”

“It’s called personal hygiene.”

“It’s called being vain. And you have all of this but no beard conditioner.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Franco grabbed Isco’s hand and squeezed a blob of soap on his palm before squeezing one for himself. He started to soap himself all over and, when Isco just stood there and stared at him, said, “I’m not going to soap you, you know.”

“I’m clean,” Isco pointed out.

“Well, I’m dirty, and you touched me, so you’re dirty too.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ ” Isco muttered, but relented anyway. He lathered the soap all over his body, slowly until Franco turned and glared at him. He quickly finished up and stood under the shower stream, waiting for Franco to take over.

And Franco just. Just reached over, grabbed Isco’s biceps, and gently shoved him against the wall. His hands snaked downwards, one in the front and one at the back, and started to jerk Isco off while teasing his hole. Isco found himself tiptoeing to get more, leaning his upper back against the cold tile while his lower body arched towards Franco.

“Now we’re clean, we can use the bed,” Franco said, and _God_ , Isco suddenly realised they weren’t in the shower to do kinky shower stuff but instead. They were in the shower literally just to get clean.

“You’re so weird,” he said.

Franco said nothing. He’d probably already heard that way too many times. He just stepped out to grab a random towel, pulled Isco out, dabbed the both of them dry, and hoisted Isco up off the ground again – before he realised the shower was still on. He gave a little groan and turned so Isco was facing the shower. “Turn it off.”

Isco reached over and turned off the shower. Franco let them both drip off on the shower mat for a few brief seconds before he headed back out to the bedroom. And well. Isco had to admit this was a rather comfortable mode of transport.

That thought barely had time to register in his mind before Franco dumped him roughly on the bed and crawled over him. He used his fucking gigantic hands to mess up Isco’s damp hair, eager fingers sliding through the short curls. His hands were warm despite how wet everything was. It made Isco briefly wonder how Franco’s blood got all the way out to his fucking long fingers without cooling to like, ten degrees, but.

But they were a nice sort of warm, gently pawing at Isco’s hair and making Isco’s head feel warm. Making Isco feel, after a few seconds, like he was having some sort of fever. In fact, his entire body felt warm. Because Franco was fucking grinding against him and like, making him hard as fuck.

He reached up and ran his hands along Franco’s abdomen, circles and circles until he got to Franco’s nipples. He took them between his thumb and forefinger, gently twirling, smiling when Franco buckled and gasped and rolled over so he could continue teasing Isco’s hole while Isco did his nipples.

When Franco started running his other hand all over Isco’s body – fuck, Isco couldn’t help but give a little moan. He couldn’t believe this. That just Franco’s fucking _hand,_ just his _hand_ was enough to make Isco so fucking weak. He could practically feel each of Franco’s fingers as they moved as one across his body. Each of Franco’s fingertips. His big bones. His blunt nails, clawing gently, like he knew Isco wanted it.

Franco shoved a thigh in between Isco’s and let him ride out the temporary pain, and shit. Isco was so fucking gone. He just sunk into Franco’s chest, melted into him, and let Franco take him wherever he wanted to.

\------

It was late afternoon by the time they were done.

It was literally the longest butt-fucking session Franco had ever had. He didn’t remember ever having to work so hard for an orgasm. Or having to foreplay for _so fucking long._ And all of it boiled down to the fact that they were both so equally _stubborn_ , equally competitive, neither of them willing to be the first to show any sign of weakness, any sign of breaking down. And both of them trying to outplay the other by completely stopping whenever the other was close. And fuck, even if it took hours, Franco had to admit it was a fuckton of pleasure to be withheld for so long.

He turned to Isco. Isco was just lying there, staring up at the ceiling, looking a mixture of exhausted and appalled, his shoulders still rising and falling with his quick breaths. Franco turned back to the ceiling when Isco found him staring.

And then Isco suddenly turned, opened his bedside drawer, and fished in it until he found a hundred euro note. He placed it on Franco’s chest.

“What, I’m your prostitute now?” Franco asked.

“For the flight,” Isco explained. “I said we’d share the cost.”

Franco took the note and placed it in Isco’s hand, pushing it into a fist. His hand almost covered the entire of Isco’s fist. “My treat.”

Isco looked at the combination of their hands and swallowed hard, like the sight of it was highly appealing to him. Despite that, he said, “It’s not really fair.”

“This entire day, the past, what, six hours,” Franco said. “It’s more than worth the flight.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Yeah. And don’t just leave your money lying around like that, it’s dangerous.”

Isco smiled. He put the bill back in the drawer and shut it. “Yes, boss.”

It all went silent again. The both of them just lay there side by side, not saying a word. Not knowing what to say. Or at least, Franco didn’t know what to say. He was pretty sure Isco knew what to say.

Indeed, a few minutes later Isco asked, “Do your parents know?”

“About?”

“You being gay.”

“Yeah. They’ve known since I found out.”

“When was that?”

“During my teens, I don’t know. Probably sixteen or seventeen.”

“How’d you find out?”

“My parents tried introducing some girls to me. I went out with some of them. But I didn’t, you know. Like them.”

“You preferred jerking off to gay porn.”

Franco turned to him, shocked. “How’d you know that?”

“Wild guess,” Isco smirked.

Franco rolled his eyes. “Anyway, yeah. That’s how I knew. I told them and they stopped trying to find girls for me.”

“Did they find boys for you?”

“No.”

“Did you tell them you’re aromantic?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think they’d understand,” Franco shrugged. “They just took it like. Like I was going to have a public career, I was going to be a footballer, and I couldn’t just start dating a guy because that’d ruin everything.”

“So like Alvaro’s dad.”

“No, not really, they didn’t reject me when I told them.”

“So they just think you’ve been abstinent?”

Franco shrugged again. “We don’t really talk about it. It’s weird. Like, do _you_ talk to your parents about your sex life?”

Isco shook his head. “But, I don’t know. It’s been like. Ten years. Have you ever gone out with a guy?”

God, this guy never seemed to run out of questions. “Two or three of them, yeah,” Franco said. “Before I realised I didn’t have feelings for them, either.”

“Have you ever had sex with girls, though?”

“Do you wanna save some of these questions for another day?” Franco asked.

Isco went quiet. He seemed to sink his head further into his pillow, like he was embarrassed. But that hadn’t been Franco’s intention. Franco was just used to speaking his mind. Besides, he knew Isco was just trying to understand Franco’s experience so he could compare it with his own. He trusted Franco enough. And Franco trusted him enough, too, for some reason, despite him being a total chatterbox.

Franco sighed. “Yeah, I’ve had sex with girls. That’s how I know I don’t like it.”

Isco dipped his head a little in what seemed like a nod, but didn’t say a word.

“C’mon, I don’t bite,” Franco said. “You know that already.”

A few more seconds of silence, then, “If, let’s say, tomorrow I find someone I want to date, then…”

“Then this ends,” Franco finished. “I won’t do it with someone who’s already in a relationship. I made that mistake once, with…I made that mistake. I won’t make it again.”

“So I can go date someone else and you won’t be mad?”

“Why would I be mad? This is just sex.”

“Ouch,” Isco laughed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Silence. Tense, awkward silence.

“You know this is all I can give you, right?” Franco whispered. “This is all there is. Nothing more.”

Isco turned to him, his brown eyes suddenly alert and scanning the entire of Franco’s face. They hardened right before he said, “Yeah.”

“Do you want something more?”

Isco gave that a brief thought, and then shook his head. “Not right now.”

“’Cause I give awesome sex?”

“What the fuck,” Isco said, but relented when he saw Franco grinning at him. “Fine, ‘cause you give awesome sex.”

Franco burst into laughter. He kinda enjoyed seeing Isco all flustered, blushing slightly under his beard. And speaking of beard.

“Is my face red again?” Franco asked.

Isco looked at him for a little while before starting to laugh himself. “Fuck, it is.”

“Fuck you,” Franco shoved him aside. “Do something or the booty calls stop.”

“Red looks nice on you,” Isco said.

Franco turned the other way, his back facing Isco as Isco continued giggling his stupid head off. He was all hot and itchy on his cheeks and neck. “Thanks for nothing, Alarcon.”

“Aw, someone’s mad,” Isco said, moving over and draping himself over Franco. “C’mon, don’t be mad. Let me make you come again.”

And, well, how could Franco reject _that_? He let Isco be in control this time, pushing and tugging and not-so-discreetly rubbing his beard all over Franco until Franco suggested Isco not getting his orgasm until the burns faded.

Then they managed to get their butts out of the house and to some random diner in a back alley, which honestly looked a little dodgy to Franco. But Isco swore on their paella, so Franco obliged. He pulled his cap over his face but eventually just took it off because in Madrid, no one recognized him on the street. And to top things off, Isco turned out to be right, because the paella was heavenly.

“You know, Alvaro said this is where he brought Paulo on their first date?” Isco said. While his mouth was full, even.

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. “Like, first date after getting together?”

“Nah, first date in 2009.”

“A pair of romantics, aren’t they?”

Isco laughed. He continued stuffing his mouth and was done by the time Franco finished almost exactly half of his portion.

“I should’ve ordered two. I’ll finish two by the time you finish one,” Isco said. And then just. Just continued, like he was perfectly fine having a conversation with himself. “But nah. I’m already short. I can’t get fat or I’ll look like a fucking ball or whatever.”

Franco started laughing and choked on a mouthful of rice, which made Isco start laughing too before realizing that Franco was _legitimately choking_. He reached for a paper towel and waved for a glass of water, and he was still laughing but it slowly faded out as Franco stopped coughing.

“You’d look like a fucking snowman running around in your Real Madrid kit,” Franco finally managed to say, his voice hoarse.

“Wow, fuck you,” Isco dumped a ball of crumpled paper towels at Franco. It bounced off his head and back on the table. “I saved your life. Fuck you.”

“It’s funny,” Franco said. “I mean, not that being fat is funny, just. A snowman playing football. That’s funny.”

Isco gave a little laugh. He rested his elbows on the table, shoulders hunching as he examined his empty copper plate. “I thought you had no gag reflex,” he said.

“I do, it’s just,” Franco started laughing loudly again. “Your dick isn’t that big.”

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Isco said, so agitated Franco could hear his teeth grinding together. He picked up his dirty fork and waved it at Franco. “I’d fucking _stab_ you with this if we weren’t in public.”

Franco clutched at his stomach and collapsed over sideways on the seat next to him, almost crying with laughter. That joke had literally came to him out of nowhere. “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry. Fuck.”

“Fuck you,” Isco said again, throwing his fork down on the table and leaning back on his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

“Your dick is big enough,” Franco managed to say without laughing, but started again a couple seconds later as he sat back upright. “Fuck, you fucking set it up for yourself.”

“Shut the fuck up, Vazquez.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a good joke. You gotta admit it’s a good joke.”

“It’s not!”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?”

And, well. It wasn’t exactly appropriate to say aloud in a public place, so Franco took out his phone and texted Isco, _I’ll give you the best blowjob in the world._

Isco gave his phone a little peek before his face settled into a somewhat calmer expression. He afforded Franco a too-friendly smile, eyes squeezed almost shut and lips pressed together.

 _You don’t have to give it back,_ Franco added.

Isco’s expression returned to the slightly fond one he normally had after reading that. He picked up the ball of paper towels again and chucked it at Franco’s nose. “Fuck you,” he said one last time.

There was this slightly nervous silence for a while before Franco decided that maybe this was a silence that was his responsibility to break.

“It’s called control,” he said, concentrating on his rice so he didn’t have to look at Isco’s face. “Like, you can control it, when you’re…you know. Blowing. But you can’t control a stray bunch of rice going down the wrong way.”

Isco smiled. “You like being in control, don’t you?”

“You do, too,” Franco pointed out.

“Yeah,” Isco said softly, and watched Franco’s plate intently as he eventually emptied it, silent all the way. Then Isco said, “You know, Vazquez, you’re actually not so bad.”

“What,” Franco said. “When was I bad?”

“I don’t know. I thought we were opposites. Turns out, we’re exactly the same. But maybe not exactly. Just, maybe we’re not as different as I first thought.”

“You know, I still can’t tell if we’re hitting it off,” Franco laughed.

“Me neither,” Isco confessed. “But I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t hate you, either.”

“You need time to warm up,” Isco said. “I know.”

“Yeah. And thanks for giving me time.”

“Thank yourself. I’m glad you didn’t decide to like, cut me off or anything ‘cause I talk too much.”

“You do.”

Isco opened his mouth to protest but shut it. And opened it again. “It’s not annoying or whatever, though?” he asked, and he looked a little worried. Probably because of what Franco had said about cutting off people he didn’t click with because they downright annoyed him.

“It’s not,” Franco assured. “It fits, don’t you think? You talk to fill the silences. And I listen.”

Isco smiled again. “You know, you were right. Fuck buddies can be friends, too.”

Franco flicked a grain of rice at him, just for the fun of it. He watched it get stuck on Isco’s beard as Isco frantically tried to brush it off but only had it disintegrate into a few tiny pieces and get lodged in all his hairs. He made a comment about how that was proof that Isco’s beard was too rough, and Isco told him to fuck off again.

And then they went back home and had a couple more rounds – two for Isco, one for Franco – and fell asleep with their backs facing each other.

\------

When Isco woke up, he was lying on his front and the other side of his bed was empty. The clock on the wall read a quarter past nine.

He tried rolling over on his back but. Well, his butt was a little sore. He sighed. He had forty-five minutes to solve this problem and get his – hopefully, not so sore – ass down to training.

He reached for his phone on the bedside table to check his messages. Just one, from Franco.

_Flight at 8. Hope you like my gift._

Isco checked the bedside table again and saw a brown bottle. He picked it up and blinked the sleep out of his eyes to read the label.

Beard conditioner.

And a post-it note stuck on it, reading _‘see u in rome’_ in Franco’s large handwriting. Isco didn’t have a single post-it pad in his entire apartment but he wasn’t even surprised because man, it seemed totally like Franco to be carrying a post-it pad everywhere he went.

Isco smiled, nonetheless. It was a nice gift. A nice note. He opened the text window again. _Screw yourself, I’m not going to Rome for a booty call,_ he typed.

A few seconds later, he changed his mind and backspaced the entire thing, because, well.

Because he realised he would.


	6. Every Day Discovering Something Brand New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the instagram post mentioned in this chapter.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BFWLxPxud-P/)
> 
>  
> 
> Franco's birthday is on Wednesday sooo here's his birthday chapter! Thank you all once again for your kind comments, I love hearing from you and I hope you enjoy. You can also find me on [tumblr](https://incredybala.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/debushy) if you like.
> 
> Title is from Shape Of You by Ed Sheeran.

A week later, Isco was in Rome.

He sighed contentedly as he took the lift up to one of the highest floors of the hotel. It looked posh. It was probably expensive. But it was nice.

He walked down the corridor and checked the room numbers against the one Franco had texted him. He stopped outside the correct door, took a breath, and knocked.

He heard Franco’s big feet thump to the door. When he opened it, Isco saw there was just one king-sized bed.

“There’s only one bed,” he pointed out.

“Well,” Franco gave him a stern glare. “We can’t fuck if we’re lying in different beds, can we?”

Isco ignored him. He should’ve known better than to say something like that. To _Franco._

“How much does this cost?” he asked instead.

“You need to get rid of that huge wad of money up your ass.”

“I’m not worried about money,” Isco snapped. “Just don’t want you to spend too much.”

Franco sighed. “Sorry. And it’s free of charge.”

“Like, you’re not accepting my money?”

“I’m with some travel agency. Free hotels for a year.”

“Really,” Isco said. He put his stuff down and then sat down on the bed only to spring right back up when Franco glared at him again. “Shit, sorry, I’m dirty.”

“If you want to be all business-y about it, though, go ahead.”

“Nah,” Isco said. He wasn’t really up for treating sex as a business. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. Food? I’m starving.”

And Franco was up for that, despite it being three in the afternoon and way past lunchtime. He picked up the room service menu and threw it at Isco like a Frisbee. It landed comfortably in Isco’s hand. “Choose what you want and then go shower.”

Isco eventually chose pasta, again. He pointed it out to Franco and headed into the bathroom. There was a row of travel-sized bottles sitting on the edge of the bathtub. The mirror was covered with a layer of fog. The air was still humid and smelled really fragrant and minty. Isco gave a little smirk to himself. Of course Franco brought his own toiletries. He probably shunned hotel towels, too.

Indeed, there was a foreign yellow towel hanging on the hook behind the door.

“Can I use your body wash?” Isco yelled, picking up one of the matching bottles. Mint eucalyptus. “It smells nice.”

He heard Franco mumble something through the closed bathroom door. Isco took it as permission.

“So much for complaining about how many bottles I have in my shower,” he remarked as he headed back outside after showering, smelling the same as Franco.

“Who the fuck puts hair conditioner at the very front?” Franco shot back.

“Next time you're over, you can help me rearrange it.”

Franco didn't respond, just sat there lazily in bed playing with his phone.

Isco sat down next to him and said, “I started using the beard conditioner. Feel it.”

Franco turned to him curiously, and Isco silently thought, _mission accomplished._

Franco reached out and gently threaded his fingers through Isco’s beard, his fingertips barely brushing Isco’s cheek. And even though Isco was too stubborn to admit it, the beard conditioner really helped. It didn't feel all stuffy inside his beard, for one. And it was easier to trim.

“Feels nice,” Franco said.

“Do you use it too?” Isco asked, just for the fun of it. Franco didn't so much have a beard as he did a thin layer of hair over his jaw. But it looked nice on him.

Franco shook his head. “The body wash you just used, the series has a beard conditioner, too.”

“Yeah? I'll look out for it.”

It all went quiet again, just the TV playing some random Italian thing. Franco got up to open the door when the food came. Isco hid in bed. He wasn't so sure why, but he felt like he needed to hide. Franco just rolled his eyes when he saw Isco all curled up.

“You're quiet today,” Isco remarked as they started eating, Franco slowly slicing his calzone apart. For someone who was so obsessed about cleanliness, Franco sure didn’t have any qualms about eating in bed.

“Nothing to talk about,” Franco said. Like he wasn't mad, but he just legitimately didn't know what to say. He concentrated on cutting his food into almost equally-sized pieces for a while before he continued. “Did you know, farm chickens are sometimes fed cooked eggs?”

“Seriously?” Isco asked. “Isn't that cannibalism?”

Franco smirked, like. Like he’d known that was coming. “Yeah, you think so, but aren't the eggs like, unviable chicks or something? So, like, they'd be dead anyway.”

“How do you even know if the eggs are unviable?”

“I don't know. I'm not a farmer.”

“You certainly look like one,” Isco said, and then couldn't resist but burst into loud laughter from the image of tall, lanky Franco in a farmer’s hat, his long limbs covered by a sweater made out of his sheep’s wool, and rain boots. It suited Franco. After all, literally every time Isco had seen Franco, he’d been wearing a white woolly sweater. He had like, five different ones. “Shit, you’d look good as one.”

“Fuck you,” Franco said.

“It’s a compliment.”

“Fuck you, anyway.”

“Why do you like replacing ‘thank’ and ‘see’ with ‘fuck’? Is that all you think about?”

Franco went quiet, but again not angrily, just that he’d finished cutting his food and was starting to eat it. Very slowly.

And then he suddenly said, casually on the surface but evidently after putting a lot of thought into it beforehand, “When I make you eat your own come, is it considered cannibalism?”

Isco heard his fork clatter loudly on his plate. He wasn’t even aware he’d dropped it. He turned to Franco and saw that Franco was glancing at him from the corner of his eye, the minutest of smirks hung on his lips, like he sought enjoyment in making Isco flustered.

“Did you just fucking ask me that?”

“You’re not the only one who can ask weird questions,” Franco laughed.

Isco jabbed his middle finger in Franco’s face. He picked up his fork only to accidentally drop it again.

“Look, annoy me all you want, but don’t you fucking dare to drop food on the bed,” Franco said.

Isco dangled a short strand of spaghetti in Franco’s face, just for the fun of it. He laughed when Franco raised his hand to swat it away but stopped when he realised he’d only be making a mess. Franco wasn’t the only one who could have fun at Isco’s expense. Isco could have fun at his expense, too.

But Isco had to admit he was intrigued. Despite knowing almost all of Franco’s physical aspects like the back of his own hand, Franco remained a closed book to Isco. A closed book that wasn't willing to be read. Franco hadn't cracked even a tiny bit; every time Isco spoke to him, he learned something new. Every time Isco thought he’d finally cracked this guy open, Franco went and surprised him again. He was hot and cold – not swinging from one mood to the other but actually at the same time, a type of character that wasn't a complete dichotomy but blended nicely to become lukewarm once you got to know him. He needed constant encouragement, constant nudging in order to open up. And Isco wasn't sure if they had already crossed the closeness boundary that warranted Isco to bother him 24/7.

Though he had to say, they should be pretty close.

They ate silently until Isco finished – way ahead of Franco yet again – and asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

“You know, if you keep asking me these questions while I'm eating, I’m going to take longer to finish my food.”

“Fine,” Isco said. Maybe Franco didn't want to talk about it. And besides, he was right.

Franco sighed. “I have two older brothers.”

“Do they play football too?”

“Yeah. Amateur football in Argentina.”

“Oh,” Isco said. The prodigal youngest son. “So, you're just like Paulo.”

Franco shrugged. “Kinda.”

“He’s better, though,” Isco joked, just to get a reaction.

Surprisingly, there was none, just acceptance. “Yeah, he is. I mean, that boy has made it, man.”

“I was kidding.”

“It's the truth.”

Silence.

“I have an older brother,” Isco offered.

“He play too?”

“Used to. He stopped.”

Silence again.

“You like kids?” Isco asked. Before realising it was a pretty weird question to ask. But, well. He needed to know, for reasons. One big reason, mainly.

“Yeah, love kids,” Franco said casually, like he’d already gotten used to Isco’s prying questions. “I have a nephew.”

“How old is he?”

“Turning three years old.”

“Cool, my son’s turning two.”

And then Isco immediately froze like, _oh shit,_ that had completely come out wrong. He heard Franco’s fork clatter on his plate. He saw Franco freeze, too, for a few seconds before he slowly turned to Isco, wide-eyed.

Isco cleared his throat once he managed to collect his bearings. “I have a son,” he said. “That was supposed to come first. I have a son.”

“You have a son,” Franco repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Where is he? I mean, I didn’t see him at your place. Or any toys.”

“In Málaga, with my family. Most of the time he’s with me, but he’s been there for a month. And he has his own room, everything’s inside.”

“Fuck, you didn’t think about telling me this?” Franco asked, and he sounded frantic and Isco had _never_ seen him like this before. Franco was always calm. He was _always calm._ “Like, when we were talking about relationships and how you want to be with a girl and build a family, you never thought about telling me this then?”

“I didn’t even _know you,_ ” Isco pointed out. He desperately wanted Franco to return to his more emotionless self. “I didn’t think we were going to become anything like this.”

“You couldn’t have just said something like, I don’t know, _‘I want a mom for my son’_?”

And okay, honestly, Isco hadn’t thought about that. “It was weird to bring it up. I don’t talk about him often to my friends. It was no different with you, especially since I’d only known you for a few hours.”

Franco gave a sigh, and then went quiet. He didn’t even pick his utensils up to continue eating. He just sat there, staring at the crumpled sheets near his feet.

“Are you mad?” Isco finally asked after, like, ten whole minutes of uneasy silence.

“Why the fuck would I be mad?”

“I don’t know. You look mad.”

“No, just,” Franco sighed again. “Just surprised. And I don’t like being surprised.”

“Okay.”

“What about, um,” Franco said softly, finally picking up his fork and jabbing it at one of his calzone pieces. “His mom?”

“We’re still in contact.”

“Were you in a relationship?”

“Yeah. We dated close to a year. It was my longest relationship. We’d just broken up when she found out she was pregnant.”

“But you didn’t, like,” Franco waved his hand vaguely. “Want to abort it? I mean, not that I would, I just. I’m just curious.”

And it wasn’t all the time that Franco was curious, so Isco humoured him. “It’s a kid. Our kid. We liked each other, it was just. Just that we didn’t work out. We were still good friends, we knew we could do it, be parents together. And we can.”

“Why didn’t she keep him?”

“She was young. She had things she wanted to do and she couldn’t do them with a baby hanging around.”

“You have things you want to do, too,” Franco said.

“It’s easier for a man,” Isco said. “I mean, not that I’m being sexist or anything. A woman can take care of a baby and have a job and do it perfectly fine. It’s just. Society’s like that. When they see a single mom, they question everything about her. Single dad, not so much. I didn’t want her to be held back that way. We have it worked out. She sees him whenever she’s in town or in the same place as he is. Sometimes she takes him for a few weeks at a time. Everything’s been going fine so far. Plus, he’s my son. He’s like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Franco smiled. It didn’t look any degree of fake at all, just a pure, happy smile. “Yeah, okay.”

“I miss him. My brother’s bringing him back this week.”

“I guess it was the perfect time for us to meet,” Franco said softly, and his smile had turned soft.

“Yeah,” Isco smiled back.

“What’s his name?” Franco asked.

“Isco Junior.”

And Franco just. Just burst into laughter. “You named him after yourself,” he managed to sputter. “Why am I not even a tiny bit surprised?”

“Fuck you,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder. A piece of Franco’s food bounced off his plate and onto the bed but Franco was too busy laughing to even be angry, he just picked it up and put it back on his plate. Separate from the rest, of course.

“Do you have a picture? Can I see?”

And well. Isco would be lying if he said he didn’t have an entire album on his phone dedicated to Junior. He showed it to Franco, who took the phone eagerly and started scrolling through all the photos. And Isco couldn’t help but say, “For someone who likes to know things as much as you do, I’m surprised you didn’t already know this.”

“I only went to your Wikipedia page and read like, the first few parts,” Franco said distractedly.

“He’s on my Instagram.”

“I thought that was your little brother. You’re the same size.”

“Fuck off,” Isco said.

“Is this why you’re so uptight about money?” Franco asked, still distracted. “Your son?”

“I’m not upti –“

“Just kidding,” Franco smiled, less of a grin and more like a fond smile towards the photos of Junior.

Isco watched Franco as he clicked on every photo, pausing in between bites of his food to coo at how adorable Junior was. He was even about to eat that dirty piece that’d fallen on the bed but Isco was kind enough to stop him.

He finally returned the phone to Isco with this really contented look on his face. “He looks just like you,” he said. “Really cute.”

“Thanks,” Isco smiled. Though Junior looked more like his mom. “Do you have photos of your nephew?”

And okay, so Franco didn’t have an entire album but he did have sufficient photos of his nephew Fausto from his eldest brother. And he was cute, too. Looked as playful as Junior did. Isco told Franco that, and Franco beamed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Isco told him.

“I love kids,” Franco admitted. “They make me happy.”

“Do you want your own kids?” Isco asked.

“I don’t know about that yet.”

“Hey,” Isco said. “Sorry for not telling you earlier.”

“Nah,” Franco shrugged. “I’m not mad. I have no right. I’m sorry if you thought I was mad.”

“You’re funny when you’re surprised.”

“Good funny or bad funny?”

“Good funny, like, I’ve never seen you so un-chill.”

“Fuck you, I wasn’t un-chill.”

Franco took both their plates and set them on the floor. He swept off some crumbs that had landed on the bed earlier. And then he suddenly burst out laughing.

“What?” Isco asked.

“It’s just. Just hard to imagine you with a kid.”

“Why?” Isco asked again, a little hurt. Sure, he was a little small. And Franco probably thought he was immature. But he could take care of his kid for sure.

“You’re a kid yourself,” Franco said, and then started laughing again. “It’s like, a kid taking care of a kid.”

And part of Isco was a tiny bit offended but another part of him didn’t blame Franco because that was how it was. But Isco thought he handled life pretty well. He compartmentalized life pretty well. He didn’t let the different parts of his life mess with each other; his sex life and relationships, friendships, career, family, and his outlook towards the world – Isco looked at all of them individually and as independently of each other as he could. So, like, perhaps to Franco he was immature and childish, but that was just because all his behavior and thoughts, all of them summed up, sent that message. If he took away all the joking and sex, Isco was absolutely more mature than he appeared.

He briefly considered telling Franco all of that but eventually decided otherwise. It was too long a story. Besides, the entire purpose of them being in Rome was to fuck and Franco was still laughing and Isco wanted him to stop and he knew only one way.

“If we start fucking right now, will you stop laughing at me?” he asked.

Franco nodded, but he continued laughing even when Isco climbed on his lap and shoved his tongue into Franco’s mouth, the sound sending pleasant vibrations down Isco’s throat. It soon transitioned into soft little moans so characteristic of Franco but which Isco craved to hear every time because he loved every little bit of weakness Franco decided to reveal about himself.

So he gobbled them all up greedily; every single sound Franco afforded him, Isco lapped it up like an eager dog. He didn’t want anything more but just to _know_. He only wanted to know more about Franco. And he was succeeding, Isco was succeeding in peeling off, one by one, what initially seemed like an infinity of layers that Franco had set up all around himself. It didn’t matter if he had to peel off a few of his own layers in order to do that.

And even though he was too stubborn to actually admit it, Isco was pretty pleased at what he saw underneath.

\------

Franco wasn’t surprised when he didn’t hear from Isco for a couple of days after they returned to Madrid and Palermo. After all, he’d said his son was coming back. Isco was probably busy like, bathing him or something.

Franco honestly couldn’t believe this guy. He couldn’t believe how Isco had so willingly and quickly jumped into this – frankly, way too explosive – sexual relationship _with a little kid hanging around his house_. Like, before they’d decided to meet in a city in the middle, where did he think they were going to fuck? In the back alley?

But retrospectively, Franco kind of got it. He probably hadn’t thought this sex thing was going to last so long. Franco would’ve done the same. Franco would’ve separated his family and sex life, too. Franco had always been a pro at compartmentalizing.

He opened Instagram after training and dinner to see Isco’s new photo with Junior, wearing matching t-shirts. It was cute. Franco double tapped it.

Franco briefly considered leaving a comment but decided it wouldn’t be appropriate. He messaged the photo right back to Isco on Instagram messages with a more explicit comment: _Little cockblock._

Isco didn’t respond for a half-hour and Franco got worried that he’d offended Isco – though, well, Franco thought maybe Isco understood him well enough to know that he always shot his mouth off, not unlike Isco himself – so he sent another message: _Just kidding. Junior is adorable._

There was still no reply. Franco dumped his phone aside and checked his schedule for the week, eyes flitting between the email on his computer and the calendar app on his phone, where he diligently keyed everything in, with the appropriate reminders set. There wasn’t really a lot to key in, given they only had one game of the season left, but. But Franco liked doing it. He liked keeping track of everything he had to do.

After he was done he got bored again so he went to google Real Madrid schedules. Only when the search results appeared on the page did Franco actually realise what he’d subconsciously done.

He immediately shifted the cursor to the little ‘x’ to close it, but just hovered over it for a while, thinking. There was no wrong in that, actually. No wrong in wondering what his friend’s schedule was like. No wrong in reading something that any ordinary person would be able to read just by googling it themselves.

Just two matches: One on the next day, Saturday, a league match. The other, the Champions League final, two more Saturdays away. And probably like, a thousand training sessions in between, but Franco knew by trying to google _those –_ that was when he’d be borderline stalking. That was when he’d be unable to live with himself.

He finally clicked the browser shut and picked up his phone. One notification from Instagram.

_Message from iscoalarcon: Of course he’s adorable. He has my genes._

Franco rolled his eyes. How could he ever have thought he’d offended Isco?

He switched to their text window and sent, _When do I get to meet him?_

The reply came seconds later. _Score this weekend, I’ll take him to Palermo. I score, you come to Madrid._

_Seriously? You’re willing to take him all the way here?_

_I have two days off after Sunday._

_Okay, but if you take him here then where are we going to fuck?_

No reply for fifteen minutes.

 _I’m pretty stupid,_ was the eventual reply from Isco.

Franco burst into laughter, but stopped a moment later when he realised how dumb it seemed to be laughing to himself. _Never mind,_ he typed and sent. _I’m done after Saturday, season’s ended. You have the CL final. I’ll go to Madrid._

 _Really?_ was the immediate reply, and then, _Where are we going to fuck then?_

_Your brother’s bringing him over, isn’t he? Get them to go out somewhere for a while. You know we’re quick._

_You’re quick. I’m not._

_Fuck you, I’m not quick._

_No swearing in front of Junior._

_He’s not reading this, is he? I’d be worried if he was._

_He can’t really read yet._

_I can’t wait to meet him and tell him what an asshole his father is._

_So, Monday?_

_Yeah, anytime. I’m free this week, next week I’m going back to Argentina._

_K, let me know your flight._

_Do I need to get my own room somewhere?_

_Couch is available. Antonio will sleep in the extra bed in Junior’s room._

_Ok._

_Fuck you on Monday, Vazquez._

Franco laughed again. Isco sure was learning fast.

_Ok, but whoever scores gets an extra orgasm._

_Deal._

_Kisses to Junior._

_Kisses. El Mudo_ _is sending kisses. Iconic._

_Shut the fuck up._

_You shut the fuck up or I’ll have to tape Junior’s ears up when you’re here._

_Don’t worry, he deserves way better from me than you do._

_Fuck you. I’m going to cuddle with Junior. Bye._

Franco locked his phone and put it aside. He wondered if he was being too forward by asking to meet Isco’s son. They were friends, but. But also not. It was different with Paulo because he had been in love with someone else. But Isco wasn’t, not to Franco’s knowledge. And Franco didn’t want him to get too attached or anything.

But it looked alright so far. Especially since Isco had said from the start that he seemed to only be romantically attracted to women. Isco didn’t appear to want anything from Franco besides sex. And be friends, because Isco couldn’t help but. He was like. Like an eager little puppy. Franco guessed it was just how Isco was and he had to live with it. After all, Isco was trying to live with how closed-up Franco was. And the sex was worth it. It was always down to that – the sex was worth it. The chemistry. Franco and Isco clicked, they clicked so well and explosively physically, they were almost like a lighter and fuel.

Franco picked up his phone again, opened Instagram, typed _iscoalarcon_ in the search bar, and went to Isco’s profile. He scrolled down all the way to 2014 and liked every single photo with Junior in it. It seemed like something Isco would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed. Franco was going to try to live up to all of Isco’s ADHD-ness.

A few minutes later, Isco sent him a message containing only a single middle finger emoji. And then almost immediately after, _Thank you. Nice to know that you like my son already._

Franco shut his phone again and put it aside. Something about this irked him. Something about how _comfortable_ Isco made him feel. This was the only thing Franco didn’t understand.

Isco had always been open. He had always been wild and free and living without any filter, since the very first time Franco had spoken to him back in 2009. Franco had been the exact opposite. Over all the years since Franco painfully tried to and eventually succeeded in discovering himself, Franco had very gradually built a wall around himself. Slab after slab of walls, like an onion with hardened layers. There was no guarantee that someone else wouldn’t be in tears, be it in anger or sadness, on their way to Franco’s core.

But then he met Isco again, for the third time and _for real_ , and Isco had managed to peel off half of those layers in a mere two weeks. Even _Paulo_ hadn’t managed to do that. If anything, it was Franco who’d peeled off all of Paulo’s layers with the whole Alvaro thing.

He knew what made Franco weak – the physical aspect wasn’t an issue, because Franco could think of at least three other people he used to know who knew what made him physically weak. But Isco knew what made Franco weak _emotionally_. Franco was like a rock up there. Steady, unmoving, stubborn, and logical. No sign of faltering. But Isco came along and suddenly he knew that Franco loved kids and hated being surprised and would _die_ if anything in his house was out of place and would literally do anything in the world to get himself an orgasm. And that Franco was actually really dirty-minded.

And the best part of it was, Isco didn't try to use any of those against Franco.  

It was as if, just by being open and unfiltered himself, Isco had managed to make _Franco_ behave the same way. And not just because he was making Franco compelled to behave the same way, but more like. Like he was slowly, intentionally or not, making Franco realise that this wasn’t a bad way to live. Making Franco realise that he’d been so focused on finding out one part of himself that he’d neglected all the other parts, and that it wasn't yet too late. And if Franco wanted to start trying, he could always start with Isco. After all, Isco was learning from Franco, too.

Franco rolled his eyes. It was nine thirty at night and he was thinking about _Isco._

He got up, placed his laptop on the table, dusted his sheets down, and went to sleep.


	7. I'm Still Comparing Your Past To My Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Immortals by Fall Out Boy.

There was a knock at Isco’s door at half past two on Monday afternoon.

He hoisted Junior up in his arms, one hand around his waist and the other supporting his diapered butt, as Antonio walked ahead of him to the door. The three of them had this all planned out.

“Remember what I told you, yeah?” Isco whispered into Junior’s tiny bunch of hair as they stopped behind the door. It was a little silly, but they’d even practiced for this. Junior just gave him a tiny glance, but Isco took that as a yes.

He nodded at Antonio to open the door – Franco was standing on the other side, as expected – before gently lifting Junior higher in the air in front of himself, almost right in Franco’s face, giving Junior the cue to spread his arms wide and scream loudly, “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”

Franco didn’t even cringe. He just blinked once before bursting into fond laughter, putting his bag on the ground and reaching over to take Junior. “Hello,” he said softly, holding Junior up by his underarms as he squirmed slightly. Shit, his hands looked so fucking huge around Junior’s tiny body. “Hi. You’re so cute.”

“He has my genes,” Isco reminded him again.

Franco turned to him, like he’d only just realised Isco was there because he was all focused on Junior. Which was dumb, because did he think Junior was floating in the air? Anyway, he realised Antonio was there, too, and hoisted Junior over one shoulder so he could shake Antonio’s hand. “Hi. Franco.”

“Antonio,” Antonio said. “Nice to have you.”

“Pffft, okay, never seen you two this polite before,” Isco remarked, picking Franco’s bag up and walking back inside so everyone would follow him.

“Shut the f – shut up,” Franco said.

“Proving my point,” Isco said.

They all sat down in the living room and Franco put Junior gently down on the ground, where all his toys were spread around. He sat there with this little smile on his face and watched Junior like he was his own kid.

“So Isco told me you play in the Serie A?” Antonio asked.

There was no response from Franco. His kind brown eyes continued following Junior.

Isco reached over and flicked the back of his ear.

“Ow! What the f –“ Franco managed to exclaim before Isco lunged over and clapped a hand over his mouth.

“My brother’s talking to you,” Isco said. “Rude.”

“Your hand smells like poop,” Franco remarked once Isco removed his hand.

Isco rolled his eyes but Antonio started laughing.

“Isco says you play in the Serie A?” he repeated.

“Yeah, I play for Palermo,” Franco said. “I don't know if you've heard of us. We’ve never played in Europe.”

“You two met at Paulo and Alvaro’s press conference, yeah?”

“Yeah, but also kinda twice before,” Isco said.

“So you two are hitting it off then,” Antonio said, and when Isco turned to him he was smirking. Isco hadn’t told him anything about Franco being a fuck buddy, but. Antonio had always been able to see right through Isco. “I mean, you flew from Palermo.”

“He just wants to see Junior,” Isco said.

“Yeah, I just want to see Junior,” Franco repeated, and Isco elbowed him.

“Rude,” Isco said.

“You said it yourself.”

And right then the dog came trotting out merrily from the room, attracted by all the noise, and stopped at Isco’s feet, his tongue hanging and tail wagging.

“Who’s this little guy?” Franco asked. He reached over to pet it but the dog just escaped his grasp and ran up to Junior to cuddle with him. And then Franco just. Just went and sat on the ground and placed one of his huge hands on Junior’s head and the other on the dog’s back.

“Messi,” Antonio joked, and fuck – now that the entire world knew he had a dog named Messi _,_ Isco never got to live it down. And it was obvious that Franco hadn’t known, given how little he actually knew about Isco, but now Antonio had gone and screwed everything up.

“ _Messi?_ ” Franco exclaimed, starting to laugh. The laughter grew louder. And then Franco just collapsed on his back and lay on the ground, grabbing the dog and putting it on his chest. “Your name is Messi?” he asked, laughing fondly as he wiggled its front paws about.

“Fuck, no,” Isco finally managed to say among all of Franco’s amusement. “His name is Bubu.”

“ _Bubu?_ ” Franco repeated. He started to laugh again, his laughter booming out throughout the house. He wrapped his arms around Bubu and hugged him tight. “Your name is Bubu.”

Junior turned around and stared curiously at them, before he turned to Isco with a curious expression. Like he was asking if it was safe for him to join them. Isco gave a little nod, and Junior began crawling towards Franco, flopping himself on Franco’s chest and lodging himself in Franco’s shoulder.

Antonio started laughing, and Isco could only shrug when Antonio turned to him with a questioning look.

“He’s freaking weird,” Isco said.

“I can hear you,” Franco said, from underneath the pile of fur and diapers.

Antonio started laughing again, and fuck, Isco felt so fucking helpless and fond at the same time, and he had no idea where the fondness came from, just that it was pretty nice seeing Franco with Isco’s family. And even _that_ feeling was foreign to Isco, so he gave up trying to figure anything out.

He got up and went to the kitchen to get everyone some drinks and came back out to see Antonio sitting on the ground next to Franco, who was back upright and was currently letting Junior sit in the gap between his crossed legs. They were having a conversation. Well, sort of a conversation. It was the normal kind of conversation Franco seemed to have – himself all closed up while the other person asked questions.

Isco sat on the couch near them and listened. For once, he didn't say anything, just listened to Franco answer all of Antonio’s questions.

 _What are you doing this summer?_ Nothing much, spending time with family. _Oh, you're not playing in the Euros?_ Nope. _Which national team do you play for?_ I played a couple matches for Italy. _But?_ They haven't called me up. I don't think I'm good enough. I don't know, maybe I want to play for Argentina instead. _Oh, you can play for Argentina._ Yeah, I'm half Argentine, half Italian. _How old are you?_ Twenty seven. _I don't mean to be rude but it seems a little weird that you’re still able to decide right now?_ Yeah, I wasn't good enough to be called up anywhere before, you see.

And then Antonio looked like he wanted to laugh, but in a kind way, but he wasn't so sure if he was supposed to. Franco started laughing softly himself, like he was contented with his own joke. Which made Antonio start to join in.

Franco suddenly placed Junior back on the floor, stood up, and started walking towards the kitchen, mumbling, “Sorry, I forgot to wash my hands before touching your baby.”

Isco just stared at him. He turned to Antonio, who was also staring. “He's a clean freak,” Isco offered. Antonio accepted the explanation.

“So what are you here for?” Antonio asked when Franco was back.

“For, uh,” Franco stammered. He turned to Isco for some help. “Some stuff.”

“What stuff?” Antonio asked.

Isco and Franco exchanged a silent look. A silent frantic look. Isco had barely ever seen Franco this frantic. It almost made him laugh.

“Just stuff,” Isco said. “Could you take Junior to the park? We’ll meet you there. We’ll take Bubu. I’ll help Franco with his…stuff.”

Isco almost burst into laughter at his own innuendo, but managed to hold it together.

“Okay,” Antonio said slowly. “Right now? What time should we meet?”

“In, uh, a half-hour?” Isco said. He turned to Franco.

“Give me an hour,” Franco said, his dark gaze holding Isco’s. Isco wasn’t sure if those four words were directed at him or at Antonio.

Antonio gave a little snicker, causing Isco and Franco to tear their eyes off each other and look at him. He looked like. Like he’d figured it all out by himself. “Okay,” he said again, grabbing Junior and walking into the room to grab his pram and bag. “See ya.”

And once Antonio was out the door – _once Antonio was out the door,_ Franco got up, grabbed Isco by the waist, and lifted Isco over his shoulder so he was hanging upside down over Franco’s back.

“What the fuck,” Isco said.

“You can't say you hate being ferried around like this,” Franco said as he marched into Isco’s bedroom.

And, okay, Isco couldn't. He let Franco put him down on the bed – more gently than usual – and crawl on top of him. He let Franco control him just like Franco loved. It wasn't that Isco liked being controlled. He just liked how Franco looked when he got what he wanted.

\------

They got to the park an hour and fifteen minutes later.

“Needed an extra fifteen minutes for your stuff, huh?” was how Antonio greeted them, complete with a big grin.

“You figured it out, didn't you,” Isco said, deadpan.

All Antonio did was grin even more. “So Franco, how's your stuff?”

And then he and Isco simultaneously burst into laughter, and Franco was like, fuck. What the fuck was wrong with these Alarcon brothers?

He decided to match up to them, so he said, “Still aching for more.”

And then Isco turned and just _glared_ at him, but not angrily, just like, in complete shock. Like he hadn’t expected Franco to be so fucking witty to someone he’d just met. Franco gave him a smug smile. There was still a lot about him that Isco didn’t know. Somehow, it made Franco relieved to think about that.

Antonio burst into laughter. “C’mon,” he said, clutching his stomach. He put Junior in his pram and took Bubu’s leash from Franco. “Let’s go.”

Franco grabbed the pram before Isco could. He started pushing it slowly as Isco and Antonio walked Bubu ahead of him. He wondered if they were talking about him. If they were talking about the deal he and Isco had. Franco briefly wondered why Isco trusted him so much with his son, but the thought quickly disappeared when Junior made a little sound.

It was nearing early evening and the sun was already low in the sky, so he pulled back the pram shade, revealing the top of Junior’s head. Junior turned to him curiously, a tiny smile slowly making its way across his little face.

And Franco just. Just nearly melted into the ground. It had been the same with his nephew Fausto. Franco just had a huge weakness for little kids. _Smiling_ little kids.

Franco stopped in his tracks, pushed the pram to the edge of the sidewalk so he wouldn’t be blocking anyone, and unstrapped Junior so he could hold Junior up in the air by his underarms.

“You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” Franco smiled, wiggling Junior for a while before pulling him back down, close to Franco’s chest. He booped Junior’s nose with his own. “Hmm? Aren’t you?”

Junior just stared at him for a few moments before he started giggling, a soft, innocent sound that travelled easily through the breeze. And Franco thought, well. He was pretty lucky that Junior was so friendly to strangers and didn’t burst into tears when someone foreign touched him. Although he didn’t know if that was such a _good thing_ in the larger scale. Because Junior was so adorable. Franco would’ve, _could’ve_ just run away with him and Junior wouldn’t even make a sound.  

The sound of his laughter attracted Isco and Antonio’s attention, though. They turned and, upon seeing how far back Franco and Junior were, started to walk back.

Franco cleared his throat. He couldn’t let them hear him cooing in his dumb baby voice. He couldn’t let _Isco_ hear.

“What are you doing?” Isco asked. He had this fond look on his face that didn’t fade when he turned from Junior to Franco. He reached out and ran his fingers through Junior’s hair.

“Plotting how to kidnap your son.”

Isco rolled his eyes. “You gonna carry him or?”

“Yeah. I’ll carry him.”

And then Isco. Isco picked Bubu up and put him in the pram and started pushing it forward like nothing had happened. Antonio followed him, but Isco turned back when he realised Franco wasn’t moving.

“What?” he asked.

“You just put the dog in the pram,” Franco said.

“Yeah.”

“His _feet_ have touched the _ground_.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ ” Isco rolled his eyes again. “You have to let babies interact with some dirt. You didn’t know that? That’s how their immune systems develop. Google it.”

“But from the _ground_?”

“Fine, I’ll wash the blankets. You gotta chill, Vazquez. Germs are good for babies.”

“Pfft,” Franco said. He turned to Junior. “Your dad’s dirty.”

“In the sheets or out of them?” Antonio chimed in, and then burst into loud laughter.

Isco and Franco both glared at him, but Isco was the first to cave. “Fish off,” he said, laughing and starting to move forward again.

“He’s really bent on not swearing around you, isn’t he?” Franco mumbled to Junior. Well, more to himself, since Junior evidently had no idea what was going on.

They took a nice long walk through the park, and to his credit, Franco managed to stay close to Isco and Antonio. The three of them talked about nothing at all but also everything at once. It was nice. The weather was cool and people were friendly even though they had no idea who Franco was. And Junior was quiet most of the time save for random exclamations at something interesting he saw.

They had dinner in a nice waterside restaurant, although, well. Franco was satiated just by watching Junior eat. And feeding Junior. And wiping Junior’s mouth. And watching him grab his baby utensils with his tiny grubby hands. He listened closely to Junior’s random babbling and tried to respond to it. He just. After some time, he just didn't care who heard him anymore.

Surprisingly, Isco didn't make fun of him. Neither did Antonio, though that was much less of a surprise. Isco just sat there and watched them fondly, sometimes responding to Junior when he called ‘papa.’

The walk home was much slower because Junior decided to walk, and he fell over every few steps so someone had to hold him, and Franco was too tall so Isco had to hold him and God, Isco stopped every three steps to squat and cuddle Junior and tell him how clever he was so the walk didn't quite speed up at all.

They eventually settled with Franco behind Junior chasing him and Isco in front with open arms for Junior to run into (except he kept moving and Junior never got to him), and Antonio at the side to pick Junior up when he fell – and Junior had _so much fucking fun_ and he giggled all the way home and Franco was so fucking _fond._ Honestly, Franco had never imagined himself having so much fun. Especially not _with Isco._ Because, you know, they were so different. But Franco had a good time. He had to admit he had a good time.

He was so exhausted by the time they got home, though, so he just flopped over on the couch with Junior draped over him. He didn't even care that they were dirty anymore. But he wasn't tired because they’d spent the entire day running around – after all, they were fucking professional footballers – and more because he’d spent so much energy on all the social interaction. Even interacting with Junior sapped some mental energy from Franco.

But he was lucky that Junior seemed to take extreme liking to him. Like, _extreme liking._ He crawled up Franco’s chest and rested his cheek on Franco’s, his little hands pressing down on Franco’s eyelids, like he was telling Franco to go to sleep. He removed a hand, though, to wave Isco over when Isco approached, like he wanted Isco to come cuddle with them. “Papa,” he called.

Isco smiled as he sat by Franco’s feet and tried to take Junior. “Come on, time for your bath.”

“Noooo,” Junior said, fingers grasping Franco’s collar. And not letting go.

Franco laughed. He wrapped his arms around Junior and pulled him close. “He likes me,” Franco said, poking Junior on the nose. “You like me, don’t you?”

“Like me,” Junior repeated slowly, like he agreed.

“Pfft,” Isco said. “Well, I’ll remind you that those little hands have touched the ground outside and are now spreading all the dirt on your stupid face.”

Franco sighed. He got up with Junior in his arms. “Let’s go shower, yeah?”

Franco and Isco ended up sitting on the bathroom floor next to the tub while Junior splashed around inside in his bubble bath, his energy level seeming to still be at fucking 100% despite the fact that both Franco and Isco were exhausted. But that was counteracted by him falling asleep almost immediately after getting out the bath, dozing off as Isco put his pajamas on.

Franco showered in the guest bathroom after Junior was done, while the others took Isco’s master bathroom because Antonio had an early train and Isco had to cuddle Junior to sleep. And he finally figured out where his travel-sized mint eucalyptus body wash had disappeared to – Isco had fucking stolen it.

He popped into Isco’s room to say good night to Junior and to ask Isco about it.

“I _borrowed_ it,” was Isco’s excuse.

“You didn’t return it, so it’s stealing.”

“Well, I’ll return it to you now.”

“The bottle’s almost empty.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“Fish you.”

Isco laughed, and he looked a little proud that Franco was learning his alternative swear words. “Fish you too, Vazquez.”

Franco ignored him. “Good night, cutie,” he whispered to Junior, gently sliding his fingers through Junior’s short hair. Isco smiled sleepily behind Junior.

“Night,” Junior mumbled softly. Isco laughed softly again and pressed his lips on Junior’s temple.

Franco went back outside and settled on the couch. Smiling. Franco couldn't stop smiling. He smiled every time he thought about Junior or heard Junior’s voice in his head. He was tiny and adorable and so _smart_ and Isco was doing a good job as a father, honestly. The first time they’d met – and all the subsequent times before Isco had told him – Franco had _never_ imagined that Isco was a dad. Never. It might have been Isco’s general laid-back attitude or extravagance. But Franco had never had a reason to think of Isco as a father, much less an awesome one.

He heard Isco cross the hall to put Junior back in his cot about ten minutes later, and then shuffle outside and sit at Franco’s feet.

“You okay out here?” he asked. “Why the fuck you smiling to yourself?”

“Fuck you,” Franco said. “I'm not.”

“So,” Isco said softly. “I'm going to bed.”

“Good night.”

“Night, Franco. Hope you had a good time.”

“I did.”

Isco sat there for a few more moments, silently, before he got up and went back inside.

\------

Just a couple of minutes after Isco turned his phone off and closed his eyes, there was a gentle knock on his bedroom door. The knob slowly twisted and the door slowly opened, and Franco stood on the other side, peering in.

“What?” Isco asked softly.

Franco closed the door, walked right inside, and stopped next to the bed, towering over Isco. “I scored on Saturday, so you owe me an extra orgasm.”

Isco rolled his eyes. It was in the middle of the fucking night and Franco wanted to claim his fucking orgasm.

“I didn't play, so it doesn't count,” Isco said.

“Fuck off,” Franco said, but. But tenderly. “You don't want to do it now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, thought so,” Franco said, but went and sat at the foot of Isco’s bed anyway. And then a couple of seconds later, decided that he wanted to crawl under the covers with Isco.

“The couch is dirty,” Isco said lazily. Honestly, he didn't really care. But Franco seemed to care, so.

“I didn't sleep on it. I slept over the blanket.”

Isco realised he shouldn't have expected otherwise. “You wanna sleep here?” he asked.

“Can I?”

“Sure,” Isco said. “Hey. I remember telling you I have two days off but I just remembered I have an event tomorrow.”

“So it’s lucky you didn’t go all the way to Palermo,” Franco said.

“Yeah.”

Silence for a while.

“I googled it,” Franco suddenly said. “About the germs. Turns out, it really is a thing.”

“Told you.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“There's nothing to be sorry about,” Isco laughed. He turned so he was lying on his back. “You can't sleep, or?”

Franco shrugged. “I don't know. I just, you know. Maybe. Wanna thank you for letting me hang out with Junior.”

“Of course,” Isco smiled. Franco was literally the first friend of his that had voluntarily hung out with Junior. All his other friends and teammates only ever met Junior when Isco brought him to training or after matches. Sure, they hugged him and listened to his babbling and ruffled his hair, but no one had ever asked to come visit Junior or play with him or anything. Everyone just took it as _yeah, that's Isco’s son, I know him._ Franco was the first. And Isco appreciated that he made the effort.

When Isco told him all of that, Franco chuckled. “Yeah, well, they should reconsider,” he said.

Isco wondered if this was too private. He wondered maybe if no one else had asked to come to his house specially to play with Junior because they thought it would be intruding on their privacy.

And then he remembered what Antonio had asked him that afternoon: _‘Are fuck buddies supposed to be this close?’_

Isco had asked him what he meant, and Antonio had said that he thought fuck buddies normally separated their private life from their sex life. Like, completely. So there was no emotional connection whatsoever. And honestly, that was what Isco had thought at first. But over time, over getting to know Franco and understanding their relationship more, Isco had thought this was going to work out.

But that was before that day. Before Franco flew all the way to Madrid just to meet _Isco’s family._ Before Franco had spent his entire day with Isco and not just for sex, but for getting to know everyone. Before Franco had so bravely accepted that his new fuck buddy had a son instead of running away at the first mention of a kid, an inconvenience. It was before Franco had shown Isco that this sexual relationship wasn’t the only way they could connect, and that they could connect on a _human_ level, too, as friends.

Isco turned his head to the side to look at Franco. He was lying on his back, too, facing the ceiling, his eyes closed. He looked peaceful. When Franco had his mouth shut and wasn’t spewing some rude nonsense, he looked nice and innocent and demure. He was kind and caring and gentle and he wasn’t all that cold. In fact, he had a nice character. He had the perfect character, one that complemented Isco’s. Sure, he was a pro at challenging Isco, but he was also as meticulous as Isco was careless. As diligent as Isco was laid-back. As calm as Isco was crazy. As serious as Isco was goofy. As good a listener as Isco was a talker. They almost fit together like a hand in a glove. And maybe Franco constantly challenging Isco would only push them to be better people. And okay, Isco was definitely thinking too far ahead.

“Why are you staring at me?” Franco asked, his eyes still shut.

“Do you think we’re going too far?” Isco asked.

Franco opened his eyes and turned his head towards Isco. “What do you mean?”

“With this whole…” Isco gestured between them. “Thing? Is this…is this getting too personal?”

Franco closed his eyes again and turned his head back. “I’m leaving tomorrow evening. You won’t have to see me until you want to.”

“It’s not that,” Isco said. If he were to be honest, he would rather Franco stayed longer. “It’s just. I don’t know. The line is blurry.”

Franco went quiet for a while, and then. And then he suddenly reached over and took Isco’s hand in his. He slid their fingers together, his long, slender ones filling the gaps between Isco’s short, stubby ones.

“How’s this feel?”

“Feels nice,” Isco whispered. He’d never held Franco’s hand before – thinking about it, he’d _never held Franco’s hand before_. His heartbeat began to quicken and fuck, for the fucking life of him, Isco couldn’t figure out why.

“Fuck, no, I know you’re obsessed over my big hands, but,” Franco sighed. “Nice physically? Or nice emotionally? Or both?”

And Isco couldn’t figure _that_ out, either. His heart showed no sign of slowing down and Isco took one deep breath before he went with his gut instinct and said, “Physically.”

Franco let go of his hand. “See?” he said. “That’s it. You have your line.”

Isco lifted his hand in front of his face and just. Just stared at it. It felt strangely empty now that it wasn’t holding Franco’s. Isco hated that thought.

“How do you do that so well?” he asked, not daring to turn to Franco, like he was asking it to his hand instead of Franco. “Drawing the line?”

Franco shrugged. “Natural.”

“Is it always this simple?”

A long silence.

“For some people,” Franco started softly. “There’s a clear line. For others, there isn’t a line at all. If they like someone, they’re all in, physically and emotionally. There’s no boundary. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones with the line already drawn for me.”

“How do I know how to draw the line?”

“I don’t know, Alarcon. It’s your life. The most important thing is that you _want_ to draw the line.”

Another long silence.

“Has anyone ever liked you so much that they would be in a relationship with you despite you not liking them back?” Isco finally asked.

“No,” Franco said. “But I’ve heard about that.”

“Yeah? How does it work?”

“It doesn’t,” Franco said, opening his eyes again and staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, most of the time. It depends on the couple. The other person…they end up feeling unloved. Which they _are,_ if you’re talking about the relationship, but. But sometimes…okay, I don’t know this because I’ve never experienced it myself. But sometimes, a person likes someone, _loves_ someone so much, that they’re willing to be in a relationship with them just _to be with them_. They know their feelings aren’t reciprocated. But the thing is, you know, I can hold hands with you. I can kiss you. I can do couple stuff with you like take you to dinner and then bring you home for a nice bubble bath and then fuck you to sleep. But there’s nothing attached to it. Nothing at all. And sometimes, just those physical actions are enough for people. Just being with them, being by their side, it’s enough. Enough to make up for the lack of reciprocated emotion. Enough for them to want this relationship.”

“But it doesn’t work out?”

“I guess…as time passes it gets less and less…enough. You know? Imagine if you love someone and you know they don’t love you back. You know they’ll _never_ love you back. But yet you spend every day with them, like a couple, living together and going out on dates and doing everything together. How would you feel?”

“That it’s fake.”

“Exactly. Even if the feelings you have for them are real, even if you know that for sure yourself. It’s just. It’s a difficult thing to do. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just a difficult thing to do. Because people…their first instinct is to be wanted. To be loved. And to live like that, knowing that the person you’re closest to doesn’t feel the same way as you do…eventually your selfishness takes over, and that’s the end of it. Selfishness is an instinct that is on par with being wanted. It’s…it’s kind of the same thing, don’t you think? You want to feel wanted because it makes you feel good. I don’t know if it’s a good thing that we evolved like that.”

Isco went quiet. He didn’t know what to say about that. Franco had put it all out so simply, but. It seemed like a whole new world to Isco.

It scared him that he found himself willing to take a step into it.

“it’s just difficult,” Franco continued when Isco didn’t speak. “It’s just. You know it’s not you, it’s not something about you that they don’t love. It’s just how they feel, in general. But sometimes it’s hard to accept, you know? You find yourself asking if there’s anything wrong with yourself, why that person doesn’t love you back, blah blah. It gets toxic. It hurts everyone involved because there’s no one real solution. And you can't blame anyone. You can't blame people for being who they are and you can't blame people for wanting what they want or feeling what they feel. In fact, it's probably best they end it. Why stay in a relationship if you don't feel loved the way you want to?”

Isco examined every inch of Franco’s face. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were squeezed shut so tightly Isco could see his crow’s feet. His mouth was downturned.

It touched Isco that Franco could talk so passionately about something that he didn’t fully understand, but had tried so hard to understand nonetheless. That Franco had tried to put himself in the other party’s shoes, and managed to explain it in all its wholesome, in a way that was so easy to understand to someone like Isco, who had never in his life dared to tread into this kind of territory.

Franco opened his eyes again and turned to Isco. His brown eyes searched Isco’s expression for an answer to his question, “You’re not falling for me, are you?”

And honestly, Isco wasn’t so sure. Maybe he was one of those people who had no line drawn. When he was in, he was all in. Maybe after that day, after they’d brought Junior out and Isco had witnessed how Franco treated him like his own son – maybe Isco wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Pfft,” Isco said, instead. “Fat hope.”

“Good.”

“You’re so thick-skinned, holy fuck.”

“Fuck you. You got all emotional on me.”

“I was just asking.”

“You got all emotional on me,” Franco repeated.

“I did _not._ ”

Franco paused for a moment, then, “Okay, yeah, I know. I know you’re still trying to get it.”

“Yeah,” Isco said.

Another silence, this time a really, really long one. About fifteen minutes, judging from the clock on the bedside table.

“You asleep?” Isco finally asked.

“No,” Franco said.

“Can I ask you another thing?”

“Yeah?” Franco said patiently. It didn’t even sound like he was trying too hard. It was like. Like he was already used to this. Used to Isco turning to him, used to Isco trying to figure himself out using Franco as a template. Even though they both knew that they were completely different. Everyone on earth was different, but. But _especially the both of them._

“Have you ever hurt anyone?” Isco asked. “I mean, not intentionally. Like, have you ever gone too close?”

“To the line?”

“Yeah.”

Franco paused. “No. I mean, I don’t know. If I did, the person didn’t tell me. But you’re only my third-ever fuck buddy. And I’ve been lucky enough to have hooked up only with people who are just as emotionally blocked-off as I am. Or at least I think they are.”

“So it’s possible, you think?”

“Maybe, yeah,” Franco said softly. “You sure you aren’t falling for me?”

“Fuck you, no.”

“Maybe _you_ should go dating.”

Maybe Isco should. Maybe then this would stop, since Franco wouldn’t fuck him if he was attached. And then Isco wouldn’t have to worry about blurred lines. He wouldn’t have to worry about meeting the expected tragic fate, having to leave like a dog with its tail between its legs once the emotion part of it got too much for Franco.

“Hey,” Isco said, his curiosity getting the better of him. “One last question. Remember you said if I started a new relationship with someone else, then you’d stop sleeping with me? And then you said, you made that mistake with someone before?”

“Yeah?”

“Was it Paulo?”

Franco went silent. Just went completely silent. And that, in itself, was an answer.

“Was it after he got with Alvaro?”

And immediately after he’d so recklessly, _so fucking thoughtlessly_ said that, Isco knew he’d made a huge mistake. Even though his ‘ask more and he’ll answer’ method with Franco had worked up till then, this was just. It was too much, even for Isco.

Franco’s eyes shot open and he just. He just sat up in bed, and he looked completely _furious_ and he turned to Isco, trying really hard not to yell, “Fuck you, fuck, no, they’re my friends, for fuck’s sake! I’ve been trying for _years_ to get them to be together! What the fuck kind of person do you think I am?”

“I just,” Isco whispered, cowering back into his pillow. “I don’t know.”

“Fuck you, Alarcon.”

And then Franco got up and stormed out of the room, shutting the door as loudly as he could without slamming it. Isco got up and hurried after him.

“Vazquez, c’mon,” Isco called softly down the hallway. He felt a lump rise in his throat, like. Like he was about to cry. “Franco. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Fuck off.”

“Franco. I’m sorry.”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

Isco crept out into the living room and saw Franco sitting on the couch, fuming. He was just. Just sitting there, arms crossed, staring at nothing. Isco felt relieved, honestly, because he’d thought Franco was about to leave. And he had no fucking idea why, but he _couldn’t_ let Franco leave. Not right then. He couldn’t bear to let Franco leave.

He hated to admit it, but maybe – maybe he was falling. Maybe Isco had let his guard down too much, trusted this whole ‘sex only’ thing too much, and that day, that entire day just watching Franco be fucking precious with Junior, was the tipping point. And now Isco was going to start falling hard.

Isco thought, maybe he’d be the first one, the stupid one, to step over the line Franco had drawn.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Isco whispered, suddenly dreading the answer.

“Do you want me to leave?” Franco asked sharply without turning around.

“No.”

Franco turned and glared at him, like Isco had just answered his own question. And well, Isco had seen Franco mad before, of course. But that had just been, like. Like an irritated kind of mad. It wasn’t _this_ kind of mad. It was, quite frankly, fucking terrifying.

Franco didn’t say another word. Just turned back in front and continued staring at nothing. It was just like him, Isco realised. He realised he shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Shouldn’t have expected Franco, when he was mad, to do anything else besides close up completely on himself, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

Part of Isco knew he should have foreseen this. Franco had been so incredibly patient with him. He’d answered all of Isco’s prying questions. Isco hadn’t had any right to ask so many things, but yet there he was, with all the answers, anyway. Franco had been so kind and Isco had gone and done what he’d always been so good at doing – shooting his mouth off. He had taken everything for granted.

Somehow, it hurt more than it probably should have.

Isco was mad at himself. He had to admit at least that. He was fucking furious with himself. He knew he and Franco would probably never have amounted to anything at all, but Franco was a friend. A good friend.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

Franco didn’t respond – or rather, Isco didn’t stay to see if Franco responded. He felt tears well up in his eyes, so he turned around and ran back into his room before Franco could see him.

He spent the night with his face pressed into his pillow, trying not to cry but eventually failing.


	8. Shall I Stay, Would It Be A Sin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...I mentioned in chapter 2 that the theme song for these two is Icarus by Bastille. If you've listened to it: which of these two do you think is Icarus? ;) I'd love to know if you already have one of them in mind! Also on the topic of songs, I'm preparing a new playlist for these two. I'll give you the link when I'm done!
> 
> Also I don't know if any of you noticed but I changed the chapter number to 22. Again, not a confirmed number because I have a few new ideas :) For now, enjoy and thank you so much!
> 
> Title is from Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley.

Isco woke up the next morning to his phone buzzing its way off his bedside table.

It was the babysitter, calling and apologizing profusely for cancelling so last-minute.

He sighed and got up. His eyes felt strangely puffy for a moment before he remembered he’d been fucking crying because of fucking Franco Vazquez. God, Isco was an idiot.

And then he remembered the more pressing problem ahead of him – he had that Hugo Boss event later that day, and no one to take care of Junior. Babysitter had cancelled. Antonio was already on his train. All Isco had left was, well.

It was Franco.

Isco padded his way outside to the living room, which he half-expected to already be empty and Franco gone. But instead, he saw Franco all curled up on the couch, under the blanket now instead of over it, like he’d given up trying to be clean and decided to be warm instead. He looked like a comfortable big blue ball, only his head sticking out from underneath the blanket. Bubu was curled up on what seemed like Franco’s hip.

Isco went and sat by his feet, trying to compose himself for a few seconds. The lump in his throat was still there. The general feeling of misery. Of regret. He blinked away his tears.

“Franco,” he called, gently nudging Franco’s feet. “Hey.”

Franco stirred, trying to turn but discovering he was stuck in his blanket, causing Bubu to wake up and scramble off him to find somewhere else to sleep. He opened his eyes a little and searched hazily until he found Isco. His gaze softened briefly before he remembered he was supposed to be angry.

“Yeah?” he said.

“What time is your flight?”

“I have to be at the airport by four.”

Isco sighed. So Franco was out, too. He took out his phone and scrolled through his contact list. No one of choice was available.

“What is it?” Franco asked. He looked less annoyed and more. More concerned.

“Babysitter cancelled. I have that event and there won’t be anyone taking care of Junior from noon.”

“I can stay,” Franco offered. Like, immediately.

“I won’t be back by the time you have to leave.”

“I can postpone my flight.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Isco said. He got up and went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. He couldn’t stand being near Franco. He couldn’t stand the almost-audible static that was in between them. Maybe Isco could bring Junior to the event. Maybe Junior would be a bigger hit than him.

He heard Franco get up from the couch and walk over to where Isco was, making toast. He got the coffee powder and put it in the coffee machine. And then he stopped next to Isco.

“Paulo was with his girlfriend,” Franco started, softly. His voice was still thick from sleep, and Isco didn’t dare to turn and look at him. “Last year, 2015. She was overseas. I had a party for my birthday and Paulo was there. We got super drunk and had a threesome with a random girl. It was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake. Paulo’s girlfriend broke up with him. Paulo was super fucking mad at me. _I_ was mad at me.”

Silence. Just a long, heavy silence. Isco wasn’t sure how to react. He finally turned to Franco, who was peering over with big, eager eyes. His hair was all messed up from sleep and Isco was suddenly tempted to run his hand through it. He managed not to, though.

“That okay?” Franco whispered.

“You didn’t have to tell me all of that,” Isco said. “We could’ve just forgotten everything.”

Franco smiled. It was a kind smile. “I know. But I’ve told you before. I feel like we’ve known each other for ages. It’s just. It comes naturally. When I talk to you. Everything comes naturally. I don’t often…talk so much. You know? It takes some getting used to. For me.”

“And you trust me enough to tell me everything?”

“More than I probably should.”

Isco felt a smile creep over his face. “Fuck you.”

“Look,” Franco cleared his throat, like he wasn’t sure how to put it. “Isco. I’m sorry. For getting so mad.”

“I’m sorry, too. For shooting my mouth off.”

“Again, you couldn’t have known.”

“I’m sorry, anyway. You’re not in the wrong. I’m the busybody here.”

“I don’t blame you,” Franco said. “I mean, when you think about Paulo, you think about Alvaro, don’t you? It’s hard to imagine them with other people.”

Isco burst into laughter. “Yeah, fucking hell.”

“So we’re okay now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not just saying that because you want me to take care of Junior?”

Isco smiled. “I’m not.”

Franco accepted that, just like that. He went and got the coffee in two mugs and handed one to Isco as he watched the water boil so he could boil an egg for Junior. And then he left, because he realised he hadn’t brushed his teeth.

Isco sighed. This felt way too domestic. _Way too domestic_. Like a couple having a fight, one of them spending the night on the couch, and then making up in the morning. There was even a fucking _kid_ in the mix.

The only other thing was, Isco knew this was all it was for Franco. There was nothing else. No emotional attachment at all. Just going through the actions like they were normal, the two of them were friends having a fight. If Isco had thought he was an expert at compartmentalizing – well, he’d met his match.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts. He was going to do that, too. This was just all it was – amazing sex and a sarcastic friend. Complete detachment from everything else. Besides, Paulo had succeeded in doing it, in separating his romantic feelings for Alvaro from his sexual feelings for Franco. Isco was pretty sure he could do the same.

Franco came back out when the egg was done and Isco was peeling it while trying not to burn himself.

“I know, you’re wondering if I liked the sex with the girl,” he said, sitting on one of the kitchen stools.

“Did you?” Isco asked. He hadn't been, but now he was curious.

“I didn’t enjoy that part so much. But, you know, I was drunk. So drunk me probably enjoyed everything.”

“It’s a threesome. It’s double the orgasms after all,” Isco said.

Franco burst into laughter, and it was in that instant when Isco felt everything settle. Everything falling back into place.

“If we had a threesome with someone, who’d you want it to be with?” Franco asked.

And fuck, Isco couldn't fucking believe his ears. Believe that. That Franco actually asked him that.

But after like, three seconds of thinking, Isco realised it _was_ believable. After all, Franco was the only person Isco knew who loved to talk about – and carry out – sex as much as Isco did.

They had a hearty discussion about all the different people they'd like to join their party and eventually had no definite answer because, according to Franco, _‘we’d be lucky if they even set eyes on us.’_

Isco made Franco sit and watch Junior eat as he got ready, making sure Junior didn't try to put the entire fucking egg in his mouth or anything. He came back outside in his suit to see Junior in Franco's lap, laughing loudly, babbling something about eggs and chickens. His hands were covered in remnants of the hard-boiled egg and he was smearing it all over Franco’s lips. And Franco was smiling. He was just smiling and nodding at Junior and pretending to understand what Junior was saying. And Isco just. Just felt so fucking fond inside, like a little bonfire had lit itself up in his tummy.

They both smiled equally huge smiles when they saw Isco. Franco turned Junior around in his lap. “Papa looks good, huh?”

And Junior began to stretch his arms towards Isco for a hug, but he was literally covered in egg and Franco refused to let him touch Isco until he’d cleaned all the egg pieces off Junior.

“Hey,” he said when it was time to pass Junior back to Franco. He pulled out a sheet of paper, on it written everything Franco needed to know – where the important things were, what Junior liked, when he took his nap – and put it on the table. “Thank you.”

Franco smiled, but at the ground instead of Isco. He made brief, shy eye contact and gave a little nod.

Isco gave Junior a kiss on the head and told him to be good, before leaving while Junior was distracted by Franco. Somehow, Isco didn't feel worried at all. For some reason, he trusted Franco with Junior. Franco was the steadiest and calmest person Isco had _ever_ met. And he’d proven himself to be good with Junior. Isco trusted him and not even in the romantic sense, just trusted him in general, as a friend. Isco would literally trust him with his life.

Isco realised that in more ways than one, he was.

\------

Franco had the best day of his life.

He brought Junior into the backyard and played a little game of kick and catch with him, except he pretended to not be able to catch any of Junior’s shots. And whenever Junior scored – which was, well, every time – he’d run up to Franco giggling loudly and collapse in a heap over Franco. Like he’d watched too many of his dad’s football matches and had begun to copy all their celebrations.

When it was lunchtime Franco found some baby food and warmed it up so he could feed Junior, and Junior made a whole mess out of it again with his tiny hands. Franco made sure he couldn't touch anything before he got clean. He taught Junior how to wash his hands with soap. He taught Junior how to say Franco’s name. Junior took a liking to ‘Vazquez’ instead of ‘Franco.’ Just like his dad.

And then it was time for Junior’s afternoon nap, and he dozed off right on time so Franco changed him into some clean clothes, brought him to his cot, and watched him sleep for a while. And then he went outside and cleaned everything up and made himself a salad, which he ate while playing FIFA by himself, using Barcelona and thrashing Real Madrid over and over again. Messi must've scored like, twenty goals. Bubu appeared to enjoy himself very much just trotting circles around Franco and occasionally crawling into his lap.

When Junior woke up again he started screaming for Franco, a loud yell of “Vazquez, Vazquez!” floating out from the bedroom. God, he was just like his dad.

Franco took him out of his cot and put him on the ground, on his simplified world map rug. He asked Junior where Spain was and was pleasantly surprised when Junior pointed it out without any difficulty. He didn't know where Italy was, though. Or Argentina. Franco pointed them out to him.

Franco found a bucket of Lego blocks in Junior’s room, and honestly they were too clunky and amateur for Franco’s liking but he sat and watched Junior play around with them and build his own skyscraper, anyway. And then Franco opened Junior’s little closet again and, fuck. There were a ton of baby clothes and like, super oversized jerseys, and behind smiling babies Franco’s next biggest weakness was babies in oversized clothing, so he made Junior parade around in them like his own little fashion show. And Junior had _so much fun._ He walked and posed and bowed and made faces at Franco, and Franco was sure he was going to grow up to be a heartbreaker.

Frankly, this was way more than all Franco was asking for. He had only wanted sex. Literally just. Just sex. But in addition to that, he ended up getting all of this.

Not that he was complaining, though. Franco honestly didn't mind. He was helping a friend, and in return he got some orgasms, a place to stay for the night, and a toddler to play with. Perfect scenario.

Franco wasn’t even mad anymore. He knew he should have been, after Isco had dared to accuse him of such a thing. But then again, Franco sort of understood. He found himself being able to stand in Isco’s shoes more than he thought he would. Isco lived with no filter. Franco got it. And they didn’t even know each other that well, and Franco had always been sort of an asshole to Isco, so it wasn’t so surprising that Isco would’ve thought that about him.

Sometimes, Franco wished he could just be like, 30% as carefree as Isco was. That would’ve been enough for him.

And sometimes, when he was around Isco, Franco found himself _achieving_ that 30%. Just. Just, with Isco. Franco could talk about anything. Maybe it was because Isco tried so hard to understand him and actually _did._ It was a strange feeling. Franco couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

Around dinnertime a text came in from Isco, saying, _I'll be home at 8. Can you handle dinner?_

Franco rolled his eyes. He’d dealt with a literal baby for the entire day and now Isco was asking if he could handle _dinner. Of course he could handle dinner._

 _Yeah, will deal with it,_ he replied, anyway. _Do you want some?_

 _Save a little for me,_ Isco replied.

So Franco searched the fridge and found some chicken and Alfredo sauce and decided to make pasta for all of them because firstly, well, Isco seemed to like pasta. And secondly, he asked Junior if he’d like some pasta and he responded really eagerly so Franco took that as a yes, as well.

“Papa,” Junior called as Franco was bringing a bowl of cooked penne for them to share, and Franco thought Isco was home but it was just him on the TV as they reviewed Spain’s preliminary Euro squad. There were twenty five and Isco was one of them, and Junior was all pressed up against the TV, trying to touch Isco’s little thumbnail in the corner. “Papa is home soon?” he asked as Franco picked him up.

“Mmhmm,” Franco mumbled.

He brought Junior to the bathroom and taught him to wash his hands with soap again. He brought Junior back outside and turned the channel to some cartoon so Junior would eat his food, as instructed on Isco’s little piece of paper. He alternated between feeding Junior half-pieces of penne and feeding himself whole mouthfuls of it, and Junior got impatient so he eventually just dug his entire hand into the bowl and fed himself.

And Franco looked forward to Isco coming home just as much as Junior did, honestly. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t because he’d finally have the baby off his hands, because he’d thoroughly enjoyed the day with Junior. It was just. A little weird without Isco around.

\------

Isco opened the door to some loud screaming from Junior, and he hated that the first thought in his mind was _oh God, what did Franco do to my baby?_

But he stepped inside and saw that Franco was only having a – very one-sided, mind him – tickle fight with Junior. A quarter-filled bowl of penne sat on the coffee table.

“Papa!” Junior giggled when he saw Isco step in. He rolled over on his stomach and Franco caught him before he rolled off the couch. “Papa help!”

Isco laughed. Franco turned to him and smiled. It was less friendly than Isco was used to, but. But still friendly. He sat down next to them and took Junior from Franco. “Hello, baby,” he said softly. “You had fun today?”

And all Junior did was jab one of his fingers at Franco and scream, “Vazquez!”

“He taught you that, huh?” Isco laughed again. He turned to Franco. “You taught him that?”

“Yeah,” Franco’s smile grew. He got up and went to the kitchen. “I’ll get you some food.”

“I’ll eat this,” Isco gestured to the bowl on the table.

“It’s cold,” was all Franco said. He came out a few moments later with another full bowl of penne.

Isco ate quietly with Junior sat next to him, in between him and Franco. He occasionally reached over and tugged Isco’s beard. Hard. Franco laughed every single time.

“Hey,” Franco finally said after like, fifteen whole minutes of silence, when Isco was almost done with his food. “Congrats. On the call-up.”

“Thanks,” Isco turned and smiled at him. Franco looked a little hesitant. Like he was afraid of Isco. Although, well, Isco had like twenty more reasons to be afraid. But he guessed it was just how Franco was. “And thanks for helping out with Junior.”

“So, um,” Franco cleared his throat. “I should go, yeah?”

“What time’s your flight?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Stay the night,” Isco said.

“I shouldn’t,” Franco said softly.

Isco put the empty bowl on the table, picked Junior up, and hoisted him over his shoulder so he was facing the other direction. He placed his hand on Franco’s thigh, high up, and slowly moved it higher. And towards the inside. Until he hit Franco’s hip. He felt Franco’s muscles harden in anticipation, but Franco didn’t move. Didn’t even twitch.

“Stay the night,” he repeated, hoping Franco was getting it. He chased Franco’s gaze until he met it. Franco’s eyes were dark, again, and this time Isco was the one holding them. Controlling them.

He was suddenly deathly afraid that Franco would say no.

But instead, Franco placed his hand over Isco’s, almost covering it entirely. He wrapped it around and gave it a soft squeeze. “Okay,” he mouthed. He didn’t move Isco’s hand aside.

They just sat there, hand in fucking hand, silently staring at each other. Like there were a thousand words they were saying to each other with their eyes alone.

They broke out of their trance when Junior gave a little shriek.

“I’ll, uh,” Isco started, slipping his hand out from under Franco’s – rather reluctantly, he had to say – and standing up with Junior. “Give him a bath.”

“Don’t take your suit off,” Franco said lowly, and when Isco turned to him again he was just. Just staring at Isco, like he was mentally undressing Isco.

“It’s an expensive suit,” Isco said.

Franco got up and almost snatched Junior out of Isco’s arms. “I’ll bathe him,” he proclaimed, and then before Isco could reply, marched into the bathroom with Junior squealing ‘Vazquez’ again.

Isco sighed. He briefly considered waiting in the bedroom, but realised he was dirty and Franco would be annoyed if he got into bed, or something. He sighed again. He sat down on the couch and waited. He entertained himself with the cartoon still playing on TV.

A little more than thirty minutes later Franco was back to inform Isco that Junior was asleep. And that was quick. Franco was so fucking eager. Isco didn't even get to say good night to _his_ _son._

Isco got up from the couch and decided that well, since Franco wanted to play this game, Isco could, too. He buttoned his suit button as he approached Franco, like he was approaching a guest. Because he knew Franco wanted to unwrap him like a gift.

Franco’s eyes narrowed. He took a step towards Isco and – and raised a hand to cup Isco’s jaw, squeezing tightly. He pressed his face close to Isco’s so Isco could feel his hot breaths.

“You're so fucking _infuriating_ , you know that, Alarcon?”

“Yeah,” Isco challenged. “I know.”

Franco exhaled sharply through his nose. Isco reached up and pressed his lips against Franco’s, claiming victory when Franco faltered slightly and then gave in completely. He didn't say another word, just parted his lips and let Isco explore the inside of his mouth. Isco found his desire following every slight movement of Franco’s hands; they lit up every part of Isco’s body they touched. They moved away from Isco’s jaw, down from his shoulders to his hips and then ran their way gracefully across Isco’s abdomen to unbutton his suit button. Back up his shoulders to slip his suit jacket off. To his neck, gently tugging on his tie to get him closer before hastily undoing it. Down his abdomen again, unbuttoning his dress shirt from top to bottom. To Isco’s waist, pulling his shirt out of the waistband of his pants. Fingers delicately working his belt buckle, his pants button, his zip. Sliding his pants down his hips, holding on to Isco’s waist as he stepped out of them. And then finally, slipping under Isco’s underwear, fingers gently wrapping themselves around Isco’s dick.

Isco gave a little moan right into Franco's mouth. He felt Franco’s lips turn upwards, and then Franco’s free hand moving to hook in the waistband of Isco’s underwear, pulling him closer. When Isco finally regained control of his hands, he used them to remove Franco’s pants. And then Franco’s shirt, as quickly as he could so he could press their lips together again. He only paused to see Franco’s soft hair bouncing back into place after the t-shirt was pulled off.

Franco reached down and grabbed Isco’s thighs, lifting them and wrapping them around himself so he could carry Isco to the bathroom. They had to briefly distract Bubu so he ran out of the bedroom, but after locking the door they were alone and safe.

They showered together quickly but silently, a safe distance between the both of them, no distractions allowed. There wasn’t even any elbow-clanking or butt-bumping. Just wet, soap, wash, and out.

Franco appeared pleased that Isco had shifted his body wash to the front of the shelf. There was a tiny smile on his face as he guided Isco backwards to the bed before pushing him down on it, causing Isco to bounce a little before Franco met his lips again in mid-air. Isco let himself get lost, lost momentarily in the taste of Franco’s lips before Franco moved it into Isco’s beard, tongue moving in small circles.

It all seemed so natural, like they were two pieces of a well-oiled machine, despite the fight almost exactly twenty four hours ago. On the contrary, everything just seemed so much more heightened, more intense, _exactly_ because of that fight. Every kiss meant much more. Every brush of the hand. Every dance of the fingers along skin. Silent _‘I’m sorry’_ s and _‘I’ll make it up to you’_ s. Like they needed a way to release all the tension caused by not knowing exactly whether the other was completely over it. And they had _found it._

Franco was panting a little when he sat back on his heels, nudging Isco’s thighs apart with his knees. He grabbed an extra pillow and put it under Isco’s back for support. He spat on his hand and just. Just _went for it_ , two fingers up Isco’s ass right away. Isco’s vision flashed white for an entire two seconds, and when he regained it he saw that Franco now had his fucking mouth around Isco’s dick along with his fingers sliding in and out.

“Fuck,” Isco whimpered, half in pain and half in disbelief. “Fuck. Fuck you.”

Franco stopped like he’d only just realised what he’d done. He gently slid his fingers out of Isco’s hole and sat up. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Isco said, surprised. “No.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, just,” Isco gestured to his general under area. “Continue. Please.”

He nodded at Franco when Franco gave him another questioning look. Franco spat on his hand again, this time slowly lowering it and slipping just one finger inside Isco. He maintained eye contact with Isco as he lowered his lips over Isco’s dick again, and fuck. Isco was so fucking lost. He clung on to Franco’s free hand, resting on Isco’s abdomen. He managed to finally break eye contact with Franco and squeezed his eyes shut, just savouring every single movement. Every thrust of Franco’s fingers. Every swirl of Franco’s tongue. Every little twitch of Franco’s hand as it eventually curled into a fist around Isco’s hand.

One finger quickly turned into two again, and Franco was doing that spit-precome thing on Isco’s dick that Isco had done to him on their first time together. Isco groaned and threw his head backwards, but propped himself up on his elbows a moment later to watch because _how_ could he take his eyes off _Franco_? Especially when he was doing _that_?

“You good,” Franco said after a few quiet minutes punctuated only by the sound of his lips against Isco’s dick. It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He watched Franco crawl over him to retrieve a condom from the bedside drawer. He hurriedly ripped it open and rolled it over himself before settling over Isco again.

Isco cupped Franco’s cheeks with his hands and pulled so they were face to face. Franco spat in his hand again and started stroking his own dick as he pressed his lips eagerly on Isco’s, blurring out the pain as he pressed his tip against Isco’s entrance and slowly pushed himself inside. It was actually. Actually no surprise that Franco was hard even without Isco touching him. It was just _Franco._

Franco greedily gobbled up Isco’s little gasp as their bodies started rocking together. He took over complete control just the way he liked, just the way _Isco_ liked. He moved one hand to cup and stroke Isco’s dick while the other to slide up Isco’s arm and intertwine their fingers. It was the first time, ever, that Franco had done that. That he had held Isco’s hand while fucking him.

Isco wrapped his thighs around Franco’s waist as Franco began to quicken the rhythm. He opened his mouth and let Franco shove his tongue right into it, almost choking not because of the depth but because of the shock. He let Franco play with the inside of his mouth until it was flooding with spit, and then watched open-mouthed as Franco raised his head and very pointedly licked his lips. Isco couldn’t help but smile. Franco reflected it right back, and Isco felt this rush of relief.

He struggled to free his hand from under Franco’s, and after succeeding, moved both his thumbs to Franco’s nipples, exerting the tiniest pressure on them. Franco’s gaze darkened again as he switched hands – his left hand was just as good at jerking off as his right hand, by the way – and decided to antagonize Isco by shoving his thumb into Isco’s mouth so Isco could taste his own precome. And then he ran said thumb over Isco’s left forearm, where Isco noticed that he’d taken a liking to the huge bulging vein that ran along the entire length. His gaze faltered, his body leaning further in front, causing Isco to press harder on his nipples. His hips didn’t stop moving at all.

Isco grasped the back of Franco’s head and pressed it into the crook of his neck, relishing the feeling of Franco’s stubble against his skin. It was a soft stubble, causing gentle friction instead of rough scrubbing. It smelled like the mint eucalyptus series that the vain asshole used. It followed the path of the little wet kisses Franco planted on Isco’s shoulders, like Franco was cleaning up after himself.

Isco pushed his hips further upwards, straining for more. He was so close. He was so fucking close he could feel it, could feel his fucking cock throbbing. That, coupled with Franco slowing his thrusts, making Isco desperately chase and feel every minutest bit of sensation – fuck, it fucking blew Isco’s fucking mind. Just like every other one of their encounters had, but. But this one was a little different. It was more intense and comfortable and settling all at the same time.  

“Close,” Isco murmured against the closest piece of Franco’s skin he could reach, which just so happened to be the back of his ear.

Franco gave a little mumble in acknowledgement. He pushed on Isco’s thighs, curling Isco off the bed. He switched back to his right hand and started jerking Isco off with more force, swift downwards strokes, lingering at the base of his dick. He used his left hand to nudge Isco’s chin so Isco would stop watching Franco’s hand and look right into Franco’s eyes instead.

Isco gave an internal sigh. This was it. This was where he was the weakest. Franco’s fucking eyes.

“Fuck you,” he mouthed, less because he meant it and more because he liked the look on Franco’s face when he dared to antagonize him.

Franco’s gaze hardened, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly. He cupped Isco’s cheek, his thumb running little circles in Isco’s beard. Isco braced his thighs more tightly around Franco’s waist as Franco began to coordinate his hips with his hand. They stayed like that for a while, just staring into each other’s eyes.

Until Franco suddenly whispered, “Don’t hold back, Alarcon.”

And Isco was initially like, _what the fuck_ , before he realised – he realised that he _was_ holding back.

Because he didn’t want this to be over.

Isco closed his eyes. He didn’t care if it was a display of weakness. He closed his eyes and gave a little moan when Franco thrust harder, jerked harder, another two, three times.

And Isco came. He arched his hips higher towards Franco, still thirsting for more despite being in the middle of the throes of his orgasm. He threw his head back on the pillow, allowing Franco to run his lips all along the sensitive parts of the front of his neck, his lips gently forming some vibrations that Isco couldn’t make out. He vaguely felt Franco pulling out of him, quickly yet tenderly, and rip the condom off himself.

When Isco had calmed down sufficiently he saw Franco had uncurled Isco’s legs from around him and was kneeling between his thighs, one hand still urging the last of Isco’s orgasm from him and the other frantically jerking himself off. One slow and steady, the other quick and desperate, but both still so flawlessly executed by Franco’s elegant fingers, like they were two rhythms following the same beat. Isco couldn't help but stare, his breath taken away both by that and by his climax.

“You just gonna watch, or?” Franco asked breathlessly, snapping Isco back to reality. He tightened his fingers around Isco’s dick to ease out the last drop of come before he let go of it, licking his fingers clean and wiping the remainder on the sheets.

Isco got up and pushed Franco backwards so Franco was sitting near the foot of the bed. He clambered in between Franco’s legs and just. Just _went for it_ , lowering his lips over Franco’s length and savouring the little moan that Franco made. Franco curled his fingers into Isco’s hair, twisting and tugging, roughly guiding Isco’s head up and down, only warranting Isco one quick catch of his breath. Isco pressed his tongue on Franco’s slit, maintaining a faint and moist pressure on it as he jerked off the rest of Franco’s length.

Franco made this sound in his throat that sounded like, seventy percent pleasure and thirty percent suffering. The tips of his fingers scraped against Isco’s scalp, like he was desperately searching for something to grasp. It made Isco smile. It made him smile to think that he could make Franco as weak as Franco made him. It made him smile to think that they were both equally obsessed with not showing it to the other.

But Franco gave his ear a little yank when he felt Isco smiling, so Isco stopped.

“Fuck you,” Franco said, but. But he sounded really affectionate.

Isco swirled his tongue in circles around Franco’s tip, causing Franco to make that sound again. And again, when Isco started jerking him off harder. He let go of Isco’s hair and leaned backwards, almost off the bed, head tilted downwards to watch Isco.

And then Franco buckled at the waist as he came, grasping a handful of Isco’s hair again to pull him aside. He curled himself over Isco’s shoulder, though, as Isco continued to tug at his dick, squeezing out all the come he could get. He gave a little shudder when Isco ran his thumb just under his tip.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shoving Isco by the shoulders so he landed back on the pillows. Franco collapsed halfway over him. “Fuck.”

“Didn’t know you were a cuddler,” Isco smiled. Their positions made it just right for Isco to dance his fingers in a line down Franco’s back. It was a nice feeling. It felt unusually intimate learning about the bumps Franco’s back muscles made.

“Fuck you, I’m not,” Franco said into the pillow. He hoisted himself up on his elbows, hovering slightly over Isco. He threaded his fingers through Isco’s beard, getting rid of the come that had landed there. “Stupid come-face.”

Isco smiled lazily. He could feel Franco’s breaths on his cheeks. He briefly considered lifting his head to kiss Franco, but. But it would’ve been their first time doing any sort of post-sex kissing. In fact, it was their first time actually even _physically interacting_ after they’d both gotten their orgasms. It was always just. Just getting straight down to business, and then not touching until they were ready for the next round.

Before he could make up his mind, Franco got off him and lay down on his own side, facing the ceiling.

Silence. Complete silence.

“So…we okay now?” Isco finally asked, because silences always killed him a little inside.

Franco turned his head and examined Isco’s expression before blinking once. “Yeah.”

“You’re not just saying that ‘cause you want more sex?”

“No. I’m not. Let’s just forget it.”

“Okay.”

Silence again.

“How’d you make Junior go to sleep so fast?” Isco asked.

Franco hesitated for a little while before saying, “I sang to him.”

“You _sang to him_?” Isco asked. Maybe he’d heard wrongly.

“Yeah.”

“What did you sing?”

“Some old song my granny used to sing to me.”

“Holy fuck,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder. “Sing it now. I wanna hear it.”

“Fuck you, I’m not going to sing it.”

“You’re a softie,” Isco laughed, the fact suddenly getting to him. Franco was big and stern and quiet and defensive, but deep inside he was all squishy and loved kids. How he was so willing to and successful at taking care of Junior for eight whole hours without any question or doubt was testament enough. “You’re a fucking softie, Vazquez, who would’ve thought?”

“Fuck you,” Franco said again, turning his back to Isco. He had this small smile on his face, though. “He probably only slept so quickly because I tired him out today.”

“Yeah,” Isco said thoughtfully. He had no idea what they’d done while he was gone, but he was pretty sure it involved a lot of running around. “Hey. Thanks for helping out.”

“Of course,” Franco smiled. “He’s a great kid. Gonna do great things.”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks for trusting me to do it.”

“Yeah,” Isco said again. He realised that there had never been even the tiniest part of him, ever since he’d told Franco that Junior existed, that ever doubted Franco was able to take good care of a kid. “What the fuck, why are we being so polite?”

Franco burst into laughter. “It’s the kid effect.”

“But honestly, though,” Isco said. “Just. After I pissed you off. You were still willing to help me.”

“Just because you piss me off once doesn’t mean we aren’t friends anymore. And the kid is innocent.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

“Look, it’s whatever, okay? You’re sorry, I get it. I’m sorry, too. For yelling. It’s over.”

“Mmhmm,” Isco said. “Hey. Still owe you one orgasm for scoring a goal.”

Franco turned around eagerly. “Yeah?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. God, what a fucking sex maniac.

“Later, I’m tired.”

“I thought you said it didn’t count because you didn’t play.”

“Do you want your orgasm or not?”

And that shut Franco up. He got up, popped into the bathroom to wrap a towel around his waist, and disappeared into the living room, reappearing with his phone in one hand and Bubu in the other.

“He grabbed my ankle and wouldn’t let go,” was his explanation. “Jesus, he’s just like you.”

“Fuck off,” Isco said. Bubu ended up on his face.

Bubu closed his eyes peacefully as Isco wrapped him in a hug and turned to the side, away from Franco. He was about to go to sleep himself when Franco suddenly shoved his phone in Isco’s face, the bright rectangle of light waking Isco up again.

Two alarms, one for seven in the morning and one for ten after seven. The first one was named, _8 full hours of sleep._ The second one, _so you have the energy to blow me._

Isco shoved it aside and heard it land on the bed with a thump as Franco started laughing. Seriously, that guy was fucking ridiculous.

Franco gave Bubu a little pat on the head, and then a soft ruffle of Isco’s hair, before he settled down on his side, back facing Isco.

Isco was a little embarrassed to say that he fell asleep with a cheesy smile on his face.

\------

Franco didn't hear much from Isco for the next two weeks.

Okay, so it was partly because Franco was in Argentina and didn't really take any calls. And he knew Isco was busy preparing for the Champions League final, so he didn't bother Isco about anything.

He did wonder about Junior, though. Texted Isco once about it. Isco told him his parents were in Madrid to help. Sent a selfie of the four of them, captioned, _three generations of good genes._

Franco rolled his eyes. _Shouldn't have asked,_ he replied.

 _Hehe,_ was Isco’s reply. Hehe. What the fuck kind of reply was _hehe?_

Franco watched the entire Champions League final with his parents and brothers and their families, Fausto curled up in his lap because he was the only one willing to run his hands through Fausto’s hair for extended periods of time. What could he say? The kid was having a hair phase.

Anyway, Junior appeared during all the post-match celebrations, sitting on a smiling Isco’s shoulders, tiny feet bouncing on Isco’s chest as Isco walked, hands buried in Isco’s sweaty hair because he had nowhere else to put them. He looked utterly confused but just as adorable as Franco remembered.

“Hey, you know him, don't you?” Nicolas asked. “When you were at that press conference.”

“Yeah,” Franco said. “Babysat his son once.”

“Cute kid,” Nicolas said. He reached over and gave his son a pat on the head when he turned around jealously upon hearing that. “Like my Fausto.”

Franco laughed. “Yeah, maybe the next time you're over Fausto can play with him.”

“Yeah? You two are close?”

“I guess you could say that,” Franco said slowly. His brothers knew he was gay, but not aromantic. Franco’s parents thought he didn't date because of the public eye; his brothers thought that he dated, just never long enough to introduce to the family. And even so, they didn't know so much about how much sex he had. “We’ve hung out a few times,” Franco said. It was a massive understatement.

“Yeah, next time we make it to Madrid, they can have a playdate.”

And that was it, that was all from Nicolas. But Federico had much more to say.

He waited until he and Franco were alone before he asked, casually, “You slept with him yet?”

Franco turned to him in surprise. Well, a little surprise. Out of his entire family, Federico was the closest to ever figuring out Franco’s dating life. Franco had once, eons ago when he was still a teen, confided in Federico about picking up men. But Federico had never once made a big deal out of it, which was why Franco didn’t really mind.

“What,” he said anyway, just because he hated being obvious.

“Isco. You slept with him yet?”

“Why?”

A grin crept over Federico’s face. “You have!”

“So what if I have?” Franco grumbled.

“Are you two gonna be a thing?” Federico asked eagerly. “Are you?”

“No, we’re not. It’s just,” Franco waved his hand in a vague gesture. “You know.”

“Sex,” Federico finished, way too loudly for Franco’s liking.

“Shut your damn mouth,” he muttered. “Yeah.”

“Okay, but if you two are going to be a thing, I’m the first to know, okay?”

Franco reluctantly agreed. Everyone dispersed into their rooms to wait for dinner, so Franco did the same. He took out his phone and clicked open his text conversation with Isco.

_Congrats, you did a great job, I’m proud of you._

Half an hour later, the reply came. _El Mudo is proud of me :)_

Franco rolled his eyes. _Yeah, yeah, El Mudo is proud of you._

_Hehe._

_What the fuck is up with your hehe?_

_I don’t know. It’s a phase. Junior keeps saying it._

_He’s cute when he says it. You’re not._

_Fuck you, you’ve never even heard me say it before._

And well, okay, that wasn’t false. _Have a great summer in France, Alarcon,_ Franco typed slowly. His finger hovered over the send button for a while before hitting it. He hated that there was a pang of sadness that hit his heart when he realised he wasn’t going to see Isco for the entire summer.

Isco didn’t respond. Not immediately, not after fifteen minutes, and not even after dinner. Not even the next morning. Isco didn’t respond at all, and Franco just could not tear his eyes off the two blue ticks nor stop his mind from wandering.

\------

Fact was, Isco already knew he wasn’t going to France.

And another fact was, he had no idea how to tell Franco, especially since he had been the one to bring France up to Franco in the first place.

So he waited. He waited for the official announcement to be made on the last day of May, a few days after the Champions League final. A few days after Isco had received the call. _Isco and Saúl Ñíguez dropped from Spain Euro 2016 squad._

He wasn’t expecting anything from Franco, just for him to understand. For him to understand why Isco hadn’t replied.

But instead, Franco went all out and _called Isco._

“Hey,” he said when Isco picked up his call. “Um. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Isco whispered. He’d wanted to call Franco. For some reason, he just really wanted to talk to Franco about this. He felt like maybe Franco would understand.  “You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Franco said softly. “Hey. You okay?”

Isco had never expected this kind of concern from Franco. It was totally true that Franco was a softie. He had a hard shell but beneath that was the warmest personality ever.

Isco shrugged, although Franco couldn’t see him. “Yeah, it’s been a few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to.”

Franco gave a little chuckle. “Is that the first and last time I’m going to hear you say you don’t know how to talk about something?”

“Probably, yeah,” Isco smiled.

“So, um,” Franco said, and then went totally quiet for a long while. Isco even began to wonder if the connection had shut off. But then Franco continued, “So what are you doing this summer?”

“I don’t have any plans yet. It’s kinda last minute.”

“Yeah,” Franco said thoughtfully. There seemed to be something he wanted to bring up but wasn’t sure how to approach. And then he blurted it all out, everything at once, in one breath, “I was thinking, um, do you wanna hang out? Like, in summer? I don’t know, maybe you wanna be with your family and everything, but, um, I was just wondering if you want to maybe go somewhere together?”

And Isco just. He just burst into laughter because that was like, the first time he’d heard Franco talk so much at one time. He could tell Franco was nervous. He could understand why, too. Franco didn’t seem to be the type who voluntarily asked anyone out very often. And Isco had to admit that he was a little confused. Mystified. Franco was _asking him out_. He felt like he was in high school again. Getting hit on by the tall, quiet boy that no one knew anything about.

“Yeah,” Isco finally said, after catching his breath. “Yeah, sure.”

“Yeah?” Franco asked, sounding a little surprised. “You wanna holiday with me?”

“Sure. I get orgasms, right?”

“Pfft,” Franco said. “What about Junior?”

“I’ll leave him with my parents.”

“So…” Franco said hesitantly. “It’s a yes?”

“Yes, Vazquez.”

“Okay, where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. Let’s think about it. I’ll text you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget who the fuck you are,” Franco said lowly, his voice raspy, suddenly as dark as he’d been soft just a few moments earlier.

It sort of made Isco’s insides tingle. Isco blinked a few times, hoping it would go away. But he thought, maybe this was a good idea. If he couldn’t be in France, he would rather be somewhere else partying his butt off and forgetting it all, instead of sitting around and moping about it.

“Yeah?” Isco breathed. “You’d better pray that’s before _you_ forget who you are.”

“Fuck you,” Franco hissed.

“Can’t wait,” Isco said. He heard Franco give this little surprised gasp.

And then a long silence, just. Just breathing. Just Isco trying to make sense of everything. Maybe Franco, too. Isco heard both their breathing slowly settle again.

“How’s Junior?” Franco finally asked. He seemed to catch on quick about Isco hating silences. And this time, also about Isco being too upset to even think of anything to say.

“He’s good,” Isco smiled. “Asks about you sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Franco laughed. “Can I talk to him?”

They ended up ending the call and starting a FaceTime instead, and Junior was so ecstatic to see Franco he couldn’t stop screaming ‘Vazquez’ over and over again. Franco listened to him babble for a while before he requested that Franco sing that same song again, and Isco started laughing triumphantly because this time _he_ would get to hear it.

Franco had a very gentle singing voice. It was soft and calming and steady, exactly the sort of voice that made lullabies sound as soothing as they did. There was a little affectionate smile on his face as he sang, watching Junior’s eyelids droop and eventually fall closed.

“Night, baby,” Franco whispered when Junior had fallen asleep.

Isco smiled. “Hey. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course,” Franco smiled back, still looking affectionate.

“Not just for this. For, uh. Offering. The vacation. Spending time with me.”

“Yeah,” Franco said again. “Just. Just, you know. Want you to feel better.”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He felt strangely touched at the gesture. All his friends were going to be away at the Euros or the Olympics or the Copa America. Paulo was going to be in France to watch Alvaro and – well, honestly, Isco would rather hang out with Franco. They were just closer than Isco was to Paulo. He pressed his lips on the top of Junior’s head. “I already do.”

Franco’s smile grew. It was genuine and kind and not at all forced. It wasn’t even dark, like he was talking to Isco purely as a friend and not as a fuck buddy at all. In fact, in that very moment, all the sex stuff just. Just seemed to vanish into thin air. It didn’t matter as much as their friendship.

“So…” Franco said softly. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“See you soon, Franco,” Isco whispered.

But neither of them hung up, just sat there and stared at each other’s pixelated faces through the tiny FaceTime screen. Franco’s lips twitched upwards again, but more awkwardly, like he didn’t want to hang up but didn’t know what else to say. Isco got it. Because Isco felt the same way. Isco didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to be away from Franco. And it was the strangest fucking thing because he, very obviously, wasn’t getting any orgasms out of it right then.

A sudden noise from behind Franco tore them from their trance again, and then this guy – one of Franco’s brothers, Isco assumed – appeared behind Franco, asking who Franco was talking to.

“Shh, his kid’s asleep,” Franco whispered.

The guy’s head popped into view again. “Hi,” he said softly. “I’m Federico. Franco’s brother.”

“Hi,” Isco whispered. “Isco.”

Federico smiled. “Congrats on the Champions League. And cute kid.”

“Thanks,” Isco chuckled. It turned into a laugh as Franco shoved Federico out of the way and Federico eventually left the room again.

“So, um,” Franco cleared his throat. “I gotta go be with my family.”

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. “Thank you. Again.”

Franco smiled, his gaze flitting from Isco to Junior, and then back to Isco. And then he seemed to put a hand over the bottom half of his phone screen, like he was covering Junior. Or his ears. Because the next thing Franco said was, “Fish you soon, Alarcon.”

Isco burst into snickers as quietly as he could so as to not wake Junior up. He didn’t understand how talking to Franco could just magically make everything okay. Just _talking to Franco_. Nothing else. Even talking to Alvaro immediately after he’d gotten the news hadn’t done so much for him. And Alvaro was his _best friend_.

He sighed as Franco hung up the phone. He lay down on his back and put Junior on his chest.

He spent all his time thinking about what the fuck was happening but eventually did not manage to get an answer, so he fell asleep cuddling Junior. **  
**


	9. You Have Always Worn Your Flaws Upon Your Sleeve, And I Have Always Buried Them Deep Beneath The Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all your nice comments <3 I really appreciate them and look forward to hearing from you, it all means a lot to me!
> 
> Title is from Flaws by Bastille.

Their trip started on the 9th of June, one day before the Euros started.

It was, in all honestly, Isco’s own idea. He needed to be far, far away. He was far too affected by this than he was willing to admit. He didn’t know how long it would take. Maybe he’d stay away until Spain were eliminated.

Franco, fortunately, just rolled along with it. He seemed bent on making Isco feel better, even though he obviously had no idea what exactly he was supposed to do. Isco appreciated it. He planned on showing Franco exactly how much.

They bought one-way tickets to Dubai, Franco from Buenos Aires and Isco from Málaga after depositing Junior at his parents’.

Franco arrived first in the wee hours of the morning Dubai time, managed to check into the hotel somehow, and texted Isco the hotel address and room number. Isco arrived at a more decent time in the afternoon. The hotel was fortunately really easy to get to, and right by the water’s edge. Isco wondered if Franco had gotten this for free, too.

There was no reply when he knocked on the room door for five whole minutes.

And then loud thumping of Franco’s feet as he finally started running to the door. He seemed to struggle with the lock and knob before finally opening it. And he just stood there, looking confused about his surroundings for a moment, his hair all messed up on his head and his sleepy eyes half-closed.

“Hi,” Isco said softly.

Franco blinked at him a few times. “Hey, yeah,” he scratched his head, messing his hair up even further. It didn't even fall back into place this time. It made Isco wonder how deeply Franco had been asleep. Franco turned around and walked back inside, and Isco just followed him. “Sorry. Jet lag.”

“Yeah,” Isco said. Franco’s flight had probably been like, twenty hours. The possibility of not getting any sleep on his flight, plus the time difference between Dubai and Buenos Aires, made for a very cranky Franco.  “Sorry I woke you.”

Franco just collapsed back into bed and gave an incoherent mumble into the pillow before falling asleep again.

Isco entertained himself briefly by staring at Franco sleep before realising that it was probably too weird and intimate. He went into the bathroom and found a new set of Franco’s mint eucalyptus series sitting in a neat row next to the sink and his towel behind the door. _Of course_ that freak had showered before getting into bed. Even in his tired state.

Isco ran a warm bath for himself and filled it with a few drops of the tiny bottle of apple-scented bubble bath that came with the room. He sunk into it gratefully, happy to get the airplane stink out of him. Happy to loosen his muscles, happy to feel himself relax. Happy to feel his worries melt away, even if it was only temporarily.

When he got out of the bathroom smelling all fruity Franco was still deeply asleep, even snoring a little. He climbed under the covers and sat next to Franco, turning on the TV and entertaining himself with some documentary about volcanoes.

Franco finally got up at half past nine at night. Which was two-thirty in the afternoon in Argentina.

“Pig,” Isco greeted him.

Franco didn’t even argue. He just lay there, breathing loudly, blinking slowly but violently, and just staring at the ceiling. He still looked tired. Probably because he’d slept too much.

“Morning,” Isco tried again. “I mean, night. Evening.”

Still no reply from Franco.

“Are you alive?” Isco asked.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to wake up,” Franco snapped.

Isco burst into laughter. Franco was a gigantic weirdo. And Isco was, well. He was pretty fond of it.

Franco finally gave a loud sigh like, five whole minutes later. He very slowly got into a sitting position next to Isco, leaning on the headboard.

“What do you wanna do?” was the first thing he asked. It kinda touched Isco. That Franco’s first thought upon waking up was what _Isco_ was thinking of doing.

“There isn’t much you can do at half past nine at night,” Isco pointed out.

“It’s half past nine?” Franco exclaimed. “What the fuck. I slept twelve hours.”

“Did you sleep on the plane?”

Franco turned and just. Just stared at Isco. Like he was genuinely confused. He gestured at the air in front of him, his eyebrows raised. “ _How?_ ”

And fuck, Isco just _knew it_. He knew Franco would have some issue with sleeping on planes. Franco had issues with too many things, honestly. Maybe this was because he was too tall, or something. Or he had a bad neck. Or he didn’t want to lean his face on any dirty airplane surface. Whatever it was, it was ridiculous.

So Isco ignored his question. He said, again, “There isn’t much we can do now.”

“Come on, it’s fucking Dubai,” Franco said. He stretched loudly before reaching over to the table and grabbing one of the hotel brochures, scanning it until he found what he was looking for. “Aha. Rooftop bar. My treat.”

He dumped the brochure on Isco and hopped out of bed. He seemed particularly energetic and Isco couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying it, so he got up and changed from his shorts into jeans and waited for Franco to finish brushing his teeth and changing his own trousers.

They stood silently next to each other on the elevator with nobody else joining them.

“So,” Isco said, just to clear the silence. The lift was rolling along slowly. “Don't I get a ‘welcome to Dubai’ kiss or something?”

Franco turned to him with a dark gleam in his eye. He took a step towards Isco and Isco got pushed right up to the elevator wall, fingers wrapping around the rail for support. Franco grasped Isco’s chin between his fingers and tilted it upwards so Isco met his eyes.

And then he closed the gap between their faces and pressed his lips on Isco’s – open and forceful and wet and _exactly_ how Isco had remembered them. His hands, his huge gentle hands moved to Isco’s waist, unplastering him from the elevator wall and into Franco’s arms, which curled around his waist. Isco parted his lips and allowed Franco to explore the interior of his mouth, his hands grasping the sides of Franco’s t-shirt, his heart thumping audibly in his chest and his head fucking _spinning_ like he was in high school again and making out with a girl in the janitor’s closet.

The elevator suddenly dinged for their floor, startling the both of them apart. Franco pulled away and stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Isco did the same because his hands were fucking _shaking._ They both stepped out quietly except for their loud, quick breaths like they’d both just sprinted a hundred kilometers.

“I have a boner,” Franco whispered anxiously as they approached the entrance of the bar.

“From _kissing_?” Isco asked. “You're really fucking easy, Jesus.”

“Shut the fuck up. You've got one too.”

And okay, Isco couldn't deny that he was a little turned on. But it was easy to hide under their jeans. He pointed that out to Franco and was met with no response.

They got a table for two right at the edge of the large outdoor balcony, overlooking the Dubai nightscape and coastline. They sat down and pondered over the menu for fifteen minutes before ordering two alcoholic drinks each.

“This is pretty great,” Franco said after a few more minutes of silence. The city lights were dazzling, white and orange and blue and red under them.

“Yeah,” Isco said softly. It was kinda peaceful watching everything from up high. Isco felt big and small at the same time. “Hey. Thanks for wanting to spend the summer with me.”

Franco smiled, but straight ahead and not directly at Isco. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“It’s just, you know, all my friends are…” Isco couldn’t finish, so he just waved his hand in front of him, hoping Franco would understand.

“Yeah, I get it,” Franco smiled again, this time turning to Isco. “My summers are always spent with family. And friends back in Argentina. I don’t usually have anything to do.”

And Isco briefly thought Franco thought _he_ didn’t have any friends outside of football, so he quickly said, “I have friends, too, just…I would rather spend some time with you.”

He regretted it immediately. Franco’s smile turned into this huge grin. “You’d rather spend some time with _me_?” he asked in this super exaggerated touched voice. “Awwwwwwwwwww.”

“Fuck you,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder.

“ _El Mudo_ is touched.”

“Yeah?” Isco laughed. “Yeah, well. Yeah. Maybe I just needed to be away for a while, you know? Away from everything, from everyone who would remind me of it. I mean, getting selected in the first place was a huge thing itself, and it was my first tournament and it got me all excited but now…it’s just turned into nothing. You know?”

“You got your hopes up,” Franco said softly. “Yeah. I get it.”

“I don’t mean to sound all snobbish or anything, we all knew two people were gonna have to be cut, but…yeah.”

“Yeah,” Franco said thoughtfully. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” Isco smiled. “It’s…whatever.”

“You’ll forget about it. You’ll have so many more chances.”

“You think so?”

“I think so.”

Silence again, save for brief ‘thank you’s when the waiter brought their drinks. They each took one and sipped slowly from it, staring right ahead at the flickering city lights.

And Isco suddenly realised why Franco had asked him out on this vacation.

It wasn’t because of the sex. It wasn’t because Franco was lonely. It wasn’t because Franco was bored of spending time with his family.

It was because Franco knew, Franco understood how difficult it had been, how difficult it _still was_ , to keep as big a disappointment as this all inside. He knew Isco had to let it all out, because that was just who Isco _was_. Isco wore _everything_ on his sleeve. Franco was the exact opposite. Franco kept everything inside, locked and sealed and key thrown away. Any weakness he had, he locked it up tight and never told it to anyone if he could help it.

And that was exactly why Franco knew how much it hurt Isco to not be able to talk to anyone about it.

He was willing to be Isco’s punching bag. Let Isco rant. Let Isco release all his frustrations in whatever way he wanted to. Franco was the exact opposite of Isco and that was why he could tell immediately whenever Isco was acting out of character and needed a little help. After all, Franco was practically the only person who had suffered the complete, 100% of Isco’s sarcasm and directness, given their relationship. And he was the only person with whom Isco could get the release he needed, the _complete_ release, through doing what they both knew best and what Isco genuinely thought of as the only solution, the only way to escape from his problems.

And as if Franco could read Isco’s fucking mind, he suddenly stopped sipping his drink and said, “So, um. If you need to talk about it anymore. I’ll listen. Yeah?”

Isco nodded. He felt a little flushed and it wasn’t even the alcohol. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything. Everything. As a friend.”

Franco smiled. “You don’t have to say ‘as a friend.’ We’re friends. We both know that.”

 _There will never be anything more_ , was the thought that immediately popped into Isco’s head. He shook it off silently. He wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ anything more. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should just be content with whatever they had – because well, the sex was fucking awesome – but the line between romance and sex was never as clear for Isco as it was for Franco and Isco always found his mind subconsciously drifting to the further possibilities. He could never fully shake off the romantic ‘what if’s that lingered in the background. Even though he didn't want them.

If he tried hard enough, though, he could spend short bursts of time ignoring them.

So he smiled at Franco again, clinked glasses with Franco, and teased Franco about how his drinks had lower alcohol percentages than Isco’s.

“I do stupid stuff when I'm drunk,” was Franco’s explanation.

Which _didn't help anything at all_ , honestly, because all it made Isco do was grab the menu again and find the drink with the highest alcoholic content, which happened to be some vodka infusion. He ordered it for Franco and placed it triumphantly in front of him when it came.

Franco made a huge deal out of it but eventually ended up finishing almost three quarters of it along with his two other drinks. Isco drank the rest.

And fuck, he _was_ weird when he was drunk. He was giggly. _Franco Vazquez, giggly._ He couldn't stop smiling at Isco and laughing at him for absolutely _nothing._ And he commented on _everything._ He commented on the colour of the jeans on the guy a few tables away from them. How creepy it was that the water was pitch black right next to the explosively bright city. Rambled about how many Lego sculptures he’d put together. Told Isco about that one time Alvaro got mad jealous at Franco when he saw Franco at Paulo’s house, shirtless. Told Isco about literally every single thing Alvaro had ever done to offend him. Isco wasn't even sure he was supposed to know all of this; well, he knew parts of the most of it from Alvaro, but he wasn't sure if Franco was totally cool about telling him everything, because after all Isco knew Franco had very strong principles and ratting out a friend definitely wasn't one of them.

But shit, Isco was pretty drunk as well, so after a while he stopped thinking about all of that and started to laugh along with Franco, at absolutely nothing. Fortunately, the both of them still managed to get to their feet and stumble relatively quietly first to the bathroom, then to the cashier, and finally the lift so they could get back to their room, still giggling all the way back at how Franco had completely _wrangled_ the pronunciation of “Visa” while he was trying to pay. Even though it was only two syllables.

Honestly, though, they could still present themselves considerably well in public despite their drunkenness. They would probably just pass off as a little crazy. When Isco pointed that out, Franco grinned widely in agreement, and then launched into another rant about all the stupid things Paulo did when he was drunk.

They got back to their room safely despite having to spend three whole minutes fumbling with the keycard. Franco stumbled in ahead of Isco but ambushed Isco after Isco shut the door, pressing him up against it as he turned around.

“I want to fuck you,” he breathed into Isco’s face, a heavy, alcoholic wash of air.

Isco blinked at him once. He couldn't deny that there were still remnants of the arousal in the lift earlier that night on the way to the bar. He couldn't say that hot, drunk Franco pressing up against him and knocking all the alcohol-laden breath out of him wasn't turning him on even further. And most importantly, he couldn't even say he was worried that Franco didn't really know what he wanted, because after listening to him drunkenly ranting for the entire night, Isco knew if Franco was one thing while he was drunk, it was honest.

So Isco reached down, found the curve of Franco’s semi over his jeans, and curled his fingers around it, tugging gently.

Franco’s knees buckled a little, causing him to collapse against Isco, their foreheads pressed together. He pushed his crotch further into Isco’s grasp, yearning for more of his touch.

“Holy fuck,” Franco whispered. His eyes were dark and wide open and more awake than they’d been on the way back to the room.

“You sure about this?” Isco breathed on his cheeks. He raised a hand and gave one of them a gentle slap. “Hey. You sure?”

“Fuck, yes,” Franco said through gritted teeth. His eyes remained locked on Isco’s. “Fuck, slap me again, it’s fucking hot – no, wait. Don’t slap me or I’ll fucking come right now.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco said, pressing his lips on Franco’s for good measure. He gently pushed Franco backwards until they got to the bed, but Franco didn't want to get in until they’d both gotten their clothes off – a la ‘clean’ – and so Isco rolled his eyes and whipped off both their clothes within like, two seconds. He pushed Franco into bed and clambered up on his chest, sliding his length along the midline of Franco’s abs.

Franco’s hips strained upwards to get a little friction of his own, and he gave a little moan when he failed. His hands wrapped themselves around Isco’s thighs and squeezed them. “Fuck, I love your fucking thick thighs.”

Jesus, he _couldn't stop talking_ and Isco was just partly aroused and partly overwhelmed and partly annoyed. And he thought, was this how Franco felt when Isco couldn't stop talking? Only when Franco started giggling again did Isco realise he’d asked that out loud.

“It is,” he said, and then started laughing again, making Isco bounce up and down with him.

Isco rolled his eyes again. He pulled his thighs out of Franco’s grasp and crouched between Franco’s legs. Franco’s hips gave a violent upward twitch as Isco lowered his lips over Franco’s dick, surprising Isco. “Chill, chill,” he whispered, using his fingers to spread his spit all over Franco’s length.

Franco gave a little whine and grabbed a handful of Isco’s hair, shoving his head back down. Isco ran the tip of his tongue along Franco’s dick, stopping to tease the underneath of his tip. He savoured every little moan, every soft whimper, every gasp of air from Franco, every tiny sound that followed even the slightest movement of Isco’s hand or lips or tongue. He slid one of his hands up Franco’s body and started to tease Franco’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing Franco to moan again and lift his hips, and seconds later start spurting precome which tasted salty in Isco’s mouth.

“You gotta stop,” Franco whispered, and when Isco opened his eyes he saw Franco’s face scrunched up in agony, mouth still hanging open in mid-gasp. “Shit. You gotta stop.”

So Isco stopped, immediately, because he didn’t want Franco to come so quick. It was the first time, though, that Franco was willing to show this kind of weakness.

“Come up here and sit on my face,” Franco continued, a very inviting suggestion.

Isco crawled up Franco’s body again and all the way up to his face, letting Franco roll the tip of his tongue over the entire of his length. Franco hooked his arms under Isco’s thighs and shoved him around a little until Franco’s face was lodged between Isco’s ass cheeks, his tongue continuing to tease, now at the opening of Isco’s hole, pushing and prodding and sending a shiver up Isco’s spine.

“Holy fuck,” it was Isco’s turn to mutter. Franco was. He was fucking _wild_ when he was drunk. It was no wonder he’d gotten into that threesome trouble with Paulo.

Franco didn’t respond, just grabbed hold of any part of Isco he could get his hands on and rocked Isco gently against him. Isco leaned his cheek on the wall behind the bed, thighs straining to carry his own weight – thighs straining _under Franco's death grip._ He curled one of his hands around his own dick and started to jerk himself off, but could only do so a couple of times before he started leaking himself, all of it falling on the tips of Franco’s hair.

“Fuck, okay,” Isco whispered, getting off Franco’s face and shimmying down his chest again. “I can't fucking wait any fucking longer, okay.”

Franco gave this. This – Isco hated to say – very adorable smile up at him, his hands still stroking the sides of Isco’s thighs. He tilted his head towards his jeans on the floor. “Condom in my wallet.”

They reluctantly tore themselves apart as Isco reached for Franco’s wallet and eventually found the condom. He rolled it over Franco’s length with slightly shaking hands which only started shaking even harder when Franco took them in his and placed them on his shoulders. “Come on,” Franco said. “C’mon, Francisco. Let's go.”

Franco gripped his own cock in one hand and Isco’s in the other, doing the dual job of aligning himself and distracting Isco from the sharp pain at once. Isco lowered himself over Franco slowly, Franco’s whispered encouragement just going in one ear and out the other. He collapsed over Franco once he was filled with Franco’s length, his elbows over Franco’s shoulders, his face lodged in the crook of Franco’s neck.

Franco trapped Isco’s dick between his palm and his abdomen as Isco began to ride him – well, half ride and half grind, because Isco was so fucking _weak._ Franco used his free hand to grab a handful of Isco’s hair, pulling him back up so Franco could shove his tongue into Isco’s mouth. Isco let Franco go ahead for a little while, just gently exploring the interior of Isco’s mouth, their spit pooling and mixing and completely distracting Isco from all the little jolts of pain at his butt hole and in turn emphasizing all the different pleasant sensations that wound their way through Isco's veins. The feeling of Franco going deeper each time, tilting his hips upwards so he was hitting closer to Isco’s prostate. The feeling of Franco’s large hand over Isco’s dick. The feeling of Isco’s length rubbing along the ridge between Franco’s abs. The softness of Franco’s beard as his chin grazed against Isco’s. Isco was so gone. He was so fucking gone.

And honestly, neither of them needed much. No thanks to their leftover arousal and definitely no thanks to how easily they always got it up for each other. Franco began to gasp short little breaths directly into Isco’s mouth, always a sign that he was close. Always the only weakness he allowed Isco to see, though it wasn't just that on that day. Not drunk Franco. He gave a soft moan, one that sounded like he was in agony.

And well, on normal days Isco would have _loved_ to see Franco like that. Loved to see Franco physically beg for more. Verbally beg for more. Beg for more in any fucking way possible. But that day was just. Just different. And Isco was feeling generous.

So he said, “Just let go, Vazquez.”

Franco gave this little sigh followed by a whimper. He moved both his hands to Isco’s shoulders, gripping them tightly. He opened his eyes and looked right into Isco’s; two bright, eager, determined, slightly drunk, totally aroused, _frighteningly steady_ brown speckles that trapped Isco yet again. He thrust his hips harder upwards, his jaw falling open as the sensation rippled through him. Isco decided to give him some help by twirling his nipples between his finger and thumb, tugging slightly, causing Franco’s hips to jerk violently upwards.

“Shit, I'm coming,” Franco breathed urgently, causing Isco to hurriedly pull him out and clamber off him and crouch in between his thighs, pulling the condom off and jerking Franco off violently. “Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, _Alarcon_.”

And then he came, all over Isco’s lips and beard and cheeks, just as Isco had wrapped his mouth over Franco’s tip to blow the orgasm out of him. Franco exploded all over Isco’s face, his hips stuttering upwards and his hands struggling to reach Isco’s hair again but failing and eventually grasping two handfuls of the sheets.

“Holy _fuck,_ ” he said, a look of disbelief as he stared up at the ceiling, panting heavily. His hips slowly stopped quivering and his breaths became less violent, but he still looked dazed. His eyes searched wildly for Isco until he found him. “Fuck. Fuck you, you incredible little fuck.”

All Isco did was jab a finger towards his own dick.

A huge grin broke out on Franco’s face. He sat up and shoved Isco backwards so he was half-inclined at the foot of the bed. He dipped his head in between Isco’s legs and just. Just went for it, his tongue swift and moist and seemingly all around at once. His hands slid up Isco’s thighs again, giving them a hard squeeze, before they landed on Isco’s hips, moving in aimless circles like they were searching for something. Isco placed his hands in them and they stopped moving, instead holding them fondly, more of a gentle curl of Franco’s fingers around Isco’s hands than anything else.

Franco’s head began to bob up and down more quickly, his lips making loud wet sounds against Isco’s dick before he unsheathed his teeth and ran them just. Just gently, softly, grazing over the whole of Isco’s length so slightly that Isco wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it, before he gave one hard suck on Isco’s tip. Isco’s hips jerked upwards involuntarily. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Franco took Isco’s cock out of his mouth and gave a little breathless gasp against the tip of it. He removed one of his hands from Isco’s and started stroking Isco off, spreading all his spit over Isco’s dick. “Come on, Alarcon,” he muttered.

And Isco was. He was so close, honestly, he could feel this heavy pooling at his abdomen, right where Franco’s fucking _face_ was. He got on his knees, forcing Franco backwards, and started to thrust his hips towards Franco’s face. Franco accommodated him, leaning backwards a little, his hand now at the base of Isco’s dick and the other moving out of Isco’s grasp to cup Isco’s balls instead.

And well, fuck, Isco was so fucking sensitive down there and that, along with the fact that nothing Franco ever did could ever turn him off – it tipped Isco off the fucking edge. He barely had any time at all to pull out of Franco’s mouth and have his come land all over Franco’s face; and Franco _gladly let it_ , he gladly let it splash all over his cheeks as he tilted his face upwards, straining not to miss any single drop.

“Holy fuck,” Isco whispered, the last of his shudders escaping his body violently. He ran his thumbs over Franco’s cheeks, smudging the come around and eventually pushing it into the corner of Franco’s lips. This was like. The most mind-blowing sex Isco had ever had. Maybe it was the fact that they were both a little drunk. But maybe it wasn't that. Franco finally opened his eyes again and they were still a little dazed, reflecting Isco’s own. “Fucking hell, Vazquez.”

Franco grinned up at him before reaching up and grabbing Isco’s face, pulling it downwards so Franco could kiss it. He dragged Isco back into a lying position and half crawled onto him, the both of them starting to make out again, sloppy and wet and so _fucking hot._

“I need a break,” Isco whispered. “Fuck you, I'm not your sex slave.”

Franco gave a little groan and rolled off. He lay there facing the ceiling, eyes closed, chest heaving up and down violently. “Shit, Alarcon,” he finally said.

Isco gave a little contented sigh. “I like you better when you're drunk,” he told Franco.

“Well, I’m fucking sober as fuck right now.”

“I’ll order a few more drinks for you.”

“Only if you fuck me sober again after that.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled up at the ceiling himself. He wouldn’t mind that. “Deal.”

Franco turned his head and smiled at Isco, his lips stretched wide and all his teeth showing, and he looked happier than he _ever had_ which told Isco that he totally wasn’t sober like he’d said. And shit, Isco wasn’t about to admit it out loud but this was working. This little escape, thanks to Franco, was working. Isco could just. Just completely forget everything else if he had Franco. And it wasn’t even because of the sex. It was just. Just Franco.

Franco’s smile faded a little when he realised that Isco was doing some deep thinking, so Isco said, “This is working.”

The smile returned and Isco was so fucking relieved. “Yeah?” Franco asked.

“Yeah.”

“How much is it working so far? Out of a hundred percent.”

“Maybe ninety.”

“Why’s the ten percent?”

“Your stupid face.”

“Fuck you,” Franco shoved him in the shoulder. “You still have come on your face.”

“Natural beard conditioner,” Isco said, and Franco burst into soft laughter.

“We’re weird as fuck when we’re drunk.”

“I thought you were sober.”

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Also, you’re weird all the time, so it doesn’t make a difference.”

“Fuck you, Alarcon. You’re mean.”

“ _You’re mean,_ ” Isco imitated in his best impression of Franco’s voice and accent.

“I’m not Junior. You can’t baby talk me.”

“I can, too.”

A short silence as they caught their breaths.

“Can we make out again?” Franco asked politely.

Isco burst into laughter at how childish Franco suddenly sounded. “What?”

“Can we make out again?” Franco repeated.

“Why do you feel like you need to ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” Franco said, and when Isco turned to him his brown eyes were frank and honest. “I want to do stuff to you. Like, now. Like _all the fucking time._ I want to do things to your fucking body, Francisco Alarcon.”

Isco squeezed his eyes shut but was unable to stop the little gasp that escaped his lips. He wrapped his fists around two handfuls of the bedsheets in order to stop his hands from shaking. And then he said the words he had always thought but had _never_ said out loud, had never even _thought_ of saying out loud, because Franco kept everything hidden and Isco felt like he was supposed to, too. But Isco had begun to realise that he couldn’t. Because Isco had always worn everything on his sleeve. It was how he lived.

“You make me so fucking weak, Franco Damian Vazquez,” he half-mouthed, half-whispered.

“Mmhmm?” Franco murmured softly, his breath suddenly warm against Isco’s cheeks as he moved towards Isco until he eventually managed to crawl over him and straddle him. His breath still smelled heavily of alcohol, and Isco wondered if Franco would forget all of this tomorrow. He hoped Franco would. “Yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Isco breathed. He didn’t open his eyes but felt his own warm breath bounce back off Franco’s cheeks.

“You’re going to,” Franco whispered. And then his lips landed on Isco’s, warm and open and eager, and Isco was lost once again. He let himself be, because this was his favourite way of losing himself.

\------

That first night in Dubai was a blur speck in Franco’s memory.

Well, to be honest, all their nights in Dubai were blur specks. They all blended together, even the days. They spent all their time just lazing around and drinking martinis and arguing over who could hold their breath longer in the pool and hanging out on rooftops and playing football in the desert sand and trying to take aesthetically pleasing photos for their Instagrams. And of course, fucking. But Franco enjoyed it. He was relieved that it at least made Isco feel better. He wasn’t even angry when Isco refused to tell him if he did anything stupid when he was drunk. He was just happy that Isco got some enjoyment out of it.

It was a pretty fucking foreign feeling for Franco. Sure, he remembered going out of his way to make other people feel better because after all, Isco was right and Franco was a fucking softie. But Franco didn't remember ever feeling so satisfied about it.

They spent an entire week in Dubai before getting bored and trying to decide where to go next. An entire week in Dubai that practically ended up with Isco knowing all of Franco’s secrets. Franco had never felt so open. It was like he’d been a book on one of the oldest bookshelves of an abandoned section of the library, long forgotten and never opened, his pages stained yellow and caked with dust; and one day, being the curious pup that he was, Isco had done some exploring and found him. And Isco took him out of his shelf, the first pair of hands to touch him in a million years, and flipped through every single one of his pages, reading every word of every chapter whose ink hadn't yet faded away. And even though the faded words had meant that Isco didn't understand parts of his story, that he would never get to know the full thing – Isco had stayed. He’d chosen to stay until the very end.

Their last night in Dubai was that very last page of Franco’s book.

They’d just done it for one of the last times in their hotel room bed and were doing their classic post-coital routine of staring at the ceiling trying to catch their breath when Isco asked, “What about Las Vegas?”

“Las Vegas?”

“Our next destination.”

“I flew over the Atlantic to get here and you want me to fly back now?”

Isco went silent for a while, then, “Yeah, no, never mind.”

“I don't mind,” Franco said.

Isco turned and stared curiously at him. “Really?”

Franco shrugged. “Yeah, where else would you suggest?”

“I was thinking of Ibiza, but it's fucking boring and everyone knows me there. I just. I want to get away. You know? It’d be nice to go somewhere no one knows us. Where everything is completely different. The people, the weather, even the fucking timezone. Everything.”

So he didn't have to be reminded of all the football he could've been playing. Franco got it.

He got out his phone and found them a flight to Las Vegas. He let Isco take the window seat even though he wanted it, because Isco wanted it too. He didn't tell Isco that, though. Didn't want Isco to think Franco was giving in to him.

And then they descended into the gradually more familiar part two of their post-coital routine – the talking. This was where Franco was the weakest. This was where he shed all his barriers, unknowingly and unwillingly but so satisfyingly.

They talked a while about nothing at all. About Isco’s family. About Junior and his mom. About Franco’s family. About his previous attempted relationships.

“What's your biggest fear?” Franco asked during a lull in conversation. Isco seemed pretty fearless to Franco. He seemed too happy-go-lucky to be scared of anything. Which made Franco all the more curious.

“My biggest fear?” Isco repeated. He sounded a little surprised that Franco was asking him a question this time around. But only a little, because he seemed to have gotten used to Franco starting to open up. Isco sighed. He lifted his arms and rested his head on them. “Feeling exposed.”

“Like, naked in front of a crowd exposed?”

“No, like,” Isco shrugged. “Feeling vulnerable. Letting people manipulate me into feeling embarrassed. Even about things that aren't my fault. Or things that I didn't do.”

“So, falsely accused exposed.”

“Kinda, yeah,” Isco said. “It's just, you know. Sometimes the pressure gets so high that you convince yourself that you're embarrassed. Even when you're not. I don't want to be scared. I don't want people to dig out tiny little things about me that I ‘should’ be embarrassed about, and make me be embarrassed about it.”

“That's why you bare it all?”

“Yeah. That's why I take it all easy. Everything is out on the table and everything is something I can laugh about or produce a funny reaction to. I'm a funny guy. To everyone who knows me, friends or fans, I'm a funny guy. I dish out the complete truth and I’m human, too, you know, so like eighty percent of the time I nail it and it's exactly what they're thinking as well. And I make jokes about myself before people can make jokes about me. It feels better that way. Then they run out of things to say about me. I don't pretend to be someone I'm not so people can't use that against me. This me, this Isco, everything you see, is the whole of me. I just happen to be lucky. That I have a good sense of humour along with everything else. And along the way, I've just somehow learnt to just take everything easy. Just, fuck everyone’s opinions. I don't know. It's something I learned.”

“That's smart,” Franco said.

“Somehow, when you're able to make people laugh by being hilarious and relatable at the same time, they completely forget about your flaws. You just become their representative. They even forget that they're laughing about you together with you.”

So it was a defense mechanism. Isco didn't try to make everyone laugh because he was altruistic more than it was a natural habit in order to protect himself. The altruism was just one of the nice side effects.

“It works really well,” Franco said.

Isco smiled. “Yeah, thanks.”

“But doesn't it mean you're putting yourself down? Or other people?”

“But it's the truth, isn't it?” Isco mused. “I'm not spreading lies about myself or other people to stay relatable or whatever. I'm telling the truth. I'm acting out exactly what I'm thinking. No filter. I'm not putting myself down if I'm just displaying the exact 100% truth.”

Franco stayed quiet. Isco was way wiser than he let on.

“What's _your_ biggest fear?” Isco asked.

“Me?” Franco said. He’d never spoken about this before. Not even to his brothers or to his closest friends. Not to Paulo. But somehow, he felt comfortable talking about it to Isco. “I'm afraid of losing control.”

“Of?”

“My life,” Franco said. “I don't like to not know where I'm going. I have plans for my life. I have plans for my _day_. I know who I am and what I want to be. My biggest fear is that something comes along and screws all of this up.”

Isco went quiet for a while, then, “But you're so in control. I don't think I’ve ever seen anyone more in control than you.”

“That's because I never stop trying.”

“That's why you don't like surprises?”

“Yeah.”

“What worries you most about this?”

“Worries me?” Franco furrowed his brow. “About my life?”

“Yeah. What do you think you'll end up losing control of?”

Franco shut his eyes. He’d never talked about this. _Never._ But it felt good. The prospect of letting it all out felt good. And besides, once Franco started, he realised that he _couldn’t stop._

“I want kids. I want one kid, at least. I know I told you I didn't know yet, but I did, I have for a long time. I want a kid. And I have it all in my head. A surrogate mom. My own kid. But after that…after that, everything goes blurry. What if I'm not a good dad? What if my kid needs a mom? Or another dad to balance me out? What if the surrogacy doesn't work out? I don't want to be in a relationship with a woman just because I want a kid. It's not fair to her. It's not fair to anyone, not even to me. I don't even feel sexually attracted to women. Even if she loves me and can accept that I don't love her back, I don't think either of us can live with that emotional burden for as long as it takes for our kid to grow up. It's going to break down one day.”

“What about adoption?”

“I’d love to, but. What if I'm not a good enough dad to do it by myself? After all, I don’t feel romantic feelings. Who's to say that doesn't affect other emotions in the love part of my brain?”

“It doesn't. You can't let yourself think that. If you do, you lose.”

“But life isn't always about winning or losing, is it? It's about right or wrong.”

Everything went silent for a long time, just the sound of them breathing softly, out of sync, comfortably filling the air.

And then Isco finally spoke again, asking, “Which one are you more afraid of? Having a child yourself, or having to be married to someone you don't love in order to have a child?”

“The second one.”

“Then you have it, don't you? You have your answer. You're not going to lose control.”

“I am. Something's going to go wrong.”

“You're good with children. You can do it yourself. You're good with Junior.”

“I'm not in charge of Junior 24/7.”

“You could try. You could take care of Junior for one entire day. Not just babysitting. One entire day.”

“You'd seriously trust me with your son?”

“Of course,” Isco said matter-of-factly. “That's how much in control I think you are, Franco.”

Silence again.

“Don't you think I’d be a little selfish? The child wouldn't have a mom.”

“Lots of gay couples have children. Lesbian couples. They don't have moms or dads.”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“Junior’s mom doesn't live with him. It’s called co-parenting. You could do that.”

“I could?” Franco asked softly. He’d never thought about it that way. “Yeah?”

“Vazquez, we’re in 2016. There's no rule that you need to have a complete loving family in order for your kid to turn out awesome.”

Franco sighed. He opened his eyes. The room seemed darker than he’d remembered. “Yeah.”

“You’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You're what, twenty seven? That's plenty of time.”

Franco turned his head towards Isco, resting his cheek on the pillow. “You know, Alarcon, you're not so bad.”

Isco turned his entire body so he was curled up on his side, facing Franco. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Thanks for talking to me about all these things.”

Franco turned his whole body, too, so he was curled up facing Isco. “This is the most I’ve ever talked about it,” he whispered. “I’ve never spoken about it out loud.”

“You should. It makes you think a lot clearer.”

“That another reason why you wear everything on your sleeve?”

Isco smiled. “Yeah.”

Silence again, just the both of them facing each other, breathing more coordinately. Feet almost touching. Bodies curled together like the shape of a lopsided heart. Saying nothing, doing nothing, just staring.

Franco felt so at peace. He didn’t remember ever feeling so peaceful. And relieved that in this big, big world, someone understood him. Someone was willing to listen. Someone was willing to help. Someone had decided that just because Franco was so closed up and would be angry at the thought of opening himself up, didn’t mean that they had to be afraid. Someone had decided to stay.

“You know, our fears actually aren’t so different,” Isco finally said.

“Why do you say that?”

“We both want to be in control. We just deal with it in different ways.”

And. And it was true. They both wanted their lives to be in control, they wanted their lives to play out exactly like how they saw it. Isco chose to spill it all out on the table so no one could convince him he was doing it wrong. And Franco chose to let it loop internally over and over again until he reached the point where he was convinced he wasn’t doing it wrong.

And sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. Franco was sure Isco’s plan of control was like that, too. There was no one easy way to deal with it, to deal with how much they wanted to be the captains of their own ships.

Franco smiled. He didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

“And I stand by my offer. About letting you take care of Junior.”

Franco nodded. He felt, well. Besides feeling peaceful, Franco was also beginning to feel a little exposed. It wasn’t because he was naked. It was more because like. Like Isco had finally peeled off all of the remainder of Franco’s layers. Franco’s mind was bare. For the first time, and to the first person _ever,_ Franco was completely exposed. All his buried demons, all the things he had built up walls around, they had all slowly turned to ashes; and today, right then, was the very last one. It was the very last page of the old, broken, tattered book that Franco was.

But it was a good feeling. A good kind of feeling exposed. The feeling of someone actually knowing him and liking him enough to stay just felt so much more wholesome than all the others who’d stayed without truly knowing him. It was a good feeling.

Isco gave a little smile, and Franco felt everything settle. And even then, even though Franco hadn’t said anything at all – Isco seemed to be able to tell that Franco was afraid. Isco could tell that even though Franco wasn’t mad, he was scared because this was totally new and Franco was confused.

So Isco lifted a hand and placed it softly on Franco’s cheek, hesitantly at first, but more firmly once he was sure Franco wouldn’t swat him away. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he whispered.

And Franco just – without even _thinking,_ Franco just slid over to close the gap between their faces, and kissed Isco on the lips.

It was a thank you kiss. That was what Franco told himself, in his head, looping like a broken record. It was a thank you kiss. “It’s a thank you kiss,” he said aloud to Isco.

Isco smiled. His beard was soft against Franco’s cheeks. “And you know where this is going to take us, don’t you?”

And fuck, Franco knew. Of course Franco knew. For the two of them, there had only ever been one direction. He wrapped his arms around Isco’s waist and tugged until Isco was on top of him. He heard Isco gasp before starting to grind himself off against Franco’s thigh. Then they were lost, lost yet again in that familiar feeling.

But just as much as it was familiar, it was foreign to Franco. The voice in his head repeating _‘it’s a thank you kiss’_ soon faded away, and Franco found it being replaced by another voice, another broken record, this time playing the silent _‘I’m right here’_ that had accompanied Isco’s last whispered statement.

That night, the both of them fell asleep facing each other for the first time.


	10. With Shortness Of Breath You Explained The Infinite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Unfortunately, I have deadlines piling up all the way until mid-April and so I will have less time to write and post. But as usual, I will try to post a minimum of one chapter every week, I just don't want to rush and give lousy work to you hehe. Of course you could comment here (or on tumblr or twitter) to ask when the next chapter will be posted, no problem. Thank you all so much and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Title is from Saturn by Sleeping At Last.

Their flight to Las Vegas had a stopover at London before eleven hours of flying time. Franco watched Isco stay up the entire night through the eight-hour flight from Dubai to Zurich, and then immediately conk out once they boarded the noon flight to Las Vegas.

Franco sighed. He rolled his eyes. Why did Isco fucking hog the window seats when he was just going to sleep anyway? With his face pressed up against the filthy windowsill, too. Franco hooked his travel pillow around Isco’s neck. Much as he was annoying, Franco didn't want him to wake up with a sore neck and beard pimples. The bottom half of his body could be sore for all Franco cared.

Franco spent all the quiet time entertaining himself with old movies. And trying to stop his eyes from drifting over to the – Franco hated to say – very adorably sleeping Isco. He was almost curled up into a ball, one of his feet resting sole-down on the edge of his seat – with his fucking shoe still on, no less – and fucking annoying the fuck out of Franco. It made Franco itch all over. There were certain places the bottoms of shoes just _weren’t allowed._

He reached over and gently nudged Isco’s heel, not hard enough for his foot to fall off the seat but just. Just as an encouragement for it to do so. Isco stirred a little but didn’t even open his eyes, just went back to sleep again with his foot in the same place.

Franco reached over again and shoved it off the seat.

Isco jolted awake with a loud grunt, like he’d been in the middle of a breath. He looked around hazily with his eyes half-opened and didn’t even notice Franco there snickering silently.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked to no one.

“Your foot was on a place it wasn’t supposed to be,” Franco said, and that was when Isco finally remembered he was there.

“Fuck you,” he groaned, closing his eyes again and snuggling his head into the travel pillow. “Where the fuck this pillow come from?”

“It’s mine. Rude.”

Isco turned and shot him a glance. “Don’t you need it?”

“You need it more.”

“Awww,” Isco cooed, snuggling his face back into the pillow again. “ _El Mudo_ cares about me.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You _care_ about _me_.”

“Shut up or I’ll take it back.”

“You know, this problem can be really easily solved.”

“What problem?”

“There’s an empty seat next to you. If you scoot over, I can lie across two seats and you can have your dumb pillow back.”

“If you want two seats, can we switch places? I wanna be near the window.”

“Why?”

“I like watching the clouds.”

“Oh. I thought it was one of your quirks, like you wanna be the first one to know if we’re crash landing and we’re all going to die,” Isco said casually and God, Franco wanted to punch him. Isco got up and stretched noisily, and Franco caught his pillow before it fell to the ground. “C’mon, Vazquez.”

So they got up and switched seats and Franco helped him push the armrest back. Isco lay with his feet in the aisle seat and he was so tiny he managed to squeeze into both seats. He curled up with a sigh as Franco settled in the warm window seat with the pillow now around his own neck. “Night, Vazquez.”

Franco turned and stared at him. “Isn’t it uncomfortable without a pillow?”

“What, you want me to sleep on your lap?”

“Do you want to?”

Isco opened his eyes slowly and turned on his back, the bottoms of both his feet resting on the aisle seat. Franco tried to ignore it although it made him twitch a little. “What if I do?” Isco asked softly.

Franco pushed back the armrest between them and patted his thigh. “C’mon.”

Isco shimmied up a little so he was lying face up on Franco’s thigh. “ _El Mudo_ cares,” he said again.

“Not sure that’s something you should be saying with your head on my leg.”

Isco laughed and it sent pleasant vibrations all along Franco’s leg. “You know, I’m quite surprised you haven’t asked to have sex in the airplane toilet yet.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Franco exclaimed. “If you think I’ll ever have sex in that tiny hellhole and have any part of my body touch any part of _that_ then you don’t fucking know me.”

Isco laughed again, this time more loudly. “What if you need to pee?”

“I don’t need to touch anything while I pee,” Franco pointed out. “Also, your face is in the right position for me to pee on.”

“Fuck off,” Isco said, turning on his side. “You’re disgusting.”

“It’s also in the right position to give me a blowjob.”

A short silence, then, “You want one?”

“You want to give me one?”

A small smile crept across Isco’s face. He stood up again and took a look around. They were in business class and there weren’t many other people. It was nowhere near mealtime. The nearest people to them were a couple four rows ahead of them, a man with headphones on three rows behind them, and another man on the other side of the airplane two rows in front of theirs looking thoughtfully out the window.

Isco sat back down and immediately placed his hand over Franco’s crotch. Franco’s hips jerked upwards, less with eagerness than with complete shock.

“Seriously?” he whispered. He’d never thought Isco would agree. But well, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it.

“Do you want one?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Then shut the fuck up and don’t make a sound,” Isco said, although they both basically meant the same fucking thing. He got back down in his lying position across the two seats, but twisted on his side so he could quickly undo Franco’s jeans, reach into his underwear, and retrieve his dick.

“Holy fuck,” Franco muttered, his head thrown back on the seat, unsure if he was supposed to. Supposed to be _watching_ this. It seemed so. So fucking hot and erotic and fucking wild and Franco felt embarrassed just watching it. But fuck, he couldn’t stop Isco even if he wanted to. He just _physically couldn’t._

Part of him wondered if Isco had turned so horny and unrestrained because of Franco. Because Franco had always been this eager in asking for sex. Part of him was pleased that he’d managed to influence Isco like that, and the other part was, well. Just simply appalled.

But then again, the purpose of this trip was an escape for Isco. So Franco was going to let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. Besides, Isco had always been this fearless.

So, their trip to Las Vegas started off with a bang. Literally.

Franco came right into Isco’s mouth so the come wouldn’t stain anything – Isco’s idea, honestly – with a muffled moan and his fingers tightly entwined in Isco’s hair. He propped his feet up against the back of the seat in front of him, trying to ride his orgasm out silently but only succeeding in buckling forward and bumping his head on the entertainment screen when Isco gave him another lick.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself. “Shit, shit, holy fuck,” until his hips stopped stuttering and Isco took his fucking mouth off Franco’s cock. He turned to Isco and saw Isco very blatantly licking his lips, looking pretty proud of himself for not leaving a single drop of come anywhere. And well, he should be proud, too, because. Because that was practically the best orgasm Franco had ever had. The thrill and surprise and complete exposure to anyone who might unfortunately choose to walk past all put together with the fact that Franco loved getting blowjobs from Isco because of the sensation his beard created – it was mind-blowing. But he wasn’t about to admit that out loud to Isco.

Isco tucked Franco’s dick back into his underwear and buckled his jeans up again before giving Franco’s crotch a little pat. “All done.”

“Fuck you,” Franco said. He was still panting. It was embarrassing.

Isco turned on his back and kicked off his shoes so his feet could rest on the seat without Franco exploding. Franco appreciated that. “You just did.”

Franco sighed as he leaned back in his seat and took his feet off the front seat. “Shit,” he said again.

“G’night,” Isco said sleepily.

But Franco was feeling talkative. “My first time having sex on a plane,” he said.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled, his eyes closed and his cheek resting peacefully on Franco’s thigh. Franco hoped it wasn’t shaking or anything. “Go join the mile high club or whatever.”

“I don’t know if you can ‘cause you didn’t get an orgasm.”

“You can give me one on our way back,” Isco said casually. He gave a little yawn. “Do you have anything else to say? I wanna sleep.”

Franco gave another sigh. His hand was still in Isco’s hair and it was probably what was making Isco sleepy again so quickly after blowing Franco. It was soft and warm and curly and a lot longer now, and Franco secretly liked to put his hands in it. “You should grow your hair out,” Franco said, just for the sake of saying something.

“Mmhmm? You think so?” Isco mumbled, pressing his face into Franco’s thigh near his knee. “Maybe I will,” he said softly before drifting off to sleep.

God, this guy was fucking weird.

But it was quiet now that he’d fallen asleep again, so Franco watched the clouds fly by outside the window and eventually fell into a helpless post-coital nap, his first time ever sleeping on an airplane. His hand got sweaty in Isco’s hair but he didn’t take it out.

\------

“You fell asleep!” were Isco’s first words upon waking up four hours later, completely refreshed. The screen read forty-five minutes till they landed.

His shout jolted Franco awake with a loud snort, causing him to almost fall out of his seat despite the fact that he was in the very corner. He sat upright, eyes wide open and alert to try and figure out what had woken him up before he registered that it was Isco. He slumped back into his travel pillow. “Fuck you, Alarcon,” he said sleepily.

“You _fell asleep_ ,” Isco said again.

“On my pillow. It’s clean.”

“Yeah, but I touched it, and I was dirty because I was lying on the window,” Isco said, and then paused. “I hate how you made me so fucking good at this.”

“Ugh, shut the fuck up,” Franco said, stretching his entire body out. The entirety of his fucking long limbs. “I hate it. I’m sore everywhere. And dirty.”

“I can’t believe you’ve flown over the Atlantic so many times in your life and you had no idea this is the best way to combat jet lag.”

“What is?”

“Figuring out your next timezone and then sleeping so you wake up at a decent time in that timezone.”

“I know about that.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“I don’t like sleeping in planes. They’re dirty.”

“So you’d rather waste a day trying to sleep it out of your system?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re fucking weird.”

“Well, I’m fucking _you,_ so you just called yourself weird.”

“Fuck you,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder as he burst into laughter. It was a little cute, Franco’s sleepy laughter. And a little proud, too, just like every time he managed to make Isco speechless, like he took them as little personal victories.

Then the ride was silent again as Franco stared out the window at the clouds for twenty whole minutes without turning and Isco watched him. Franco’s hands were restless, fingers fidgeting like they wanted to hold on to something.

“Stop staring at me, creep,” he finally said, eyes still fixed on the white fluff outside.

“You're quite an interesting person,” Isco remarked.

“You're only just figuring that out?” Franco said, deadpan.

Isco ignored that. “Why're you so obsessed with the clouds?”

“I don't know,” Franco said. “I like being this high. Like, have you ever thought about it? We’re always stuck on the ground looking up. But now we're up here. In the clouds. It’s practically as far up as we will ever get. It's amazing. I don't want to miss it.”

“Is that why you don't sleep during flights, too?”

“Yeah,” Franco said, gaze still directed outwards. “Especially night flights. Everything’s so much more magical at night. You can see the stars. They look different from up here. We’re so small, Alarcon, you know that? We’re so fucking tiny. There's this whole world out there that we don't know about. That we’ll never know about, we’ll never get to see ourselves, because even at the speed of light it’ll take us millions of years to get all the way out there.”

“Does that make you sad?”

“Kinda, yeah. Like, I don't know. We’re just here, and we’re basically just individual atoms in the large scale of the entire universe. And it makes me sad that we'll never get to see it all.”

“If you weren't a footballer, would you have been an astronaut?”

Franco smiled at the window. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe an astronomer.”

Silence for the next half an hour before they landed. Isco just left Franco alone to think. Think about the meaning of life or whatever, that gigantic weirdo.

They hauled all their stuff into a cab and got to a hotel in the Vegas strip. They sat on the chairs in their hotel room trying to decide what to do before realizing they were just wasting time, so they got outside and roamed the streets and got some food from a food truck because it was four in the evening and way too early for dinner at the hotel.

“Hey,” Isco said, holding his big map out in front of him. Franco would have nothing to do with it. He almost walked as far away from Isco as the sidewalk allowed him. He would rather be _dead_ than be seen with Isco, acting like a complete fucking tourist with his dumb map and cap and sunglasses. Isco found a lot of enjoyment in pulling out his map every three minutes, just to watch Franco scurry away. “There’s a planetarium here.”

“Really?” Franco asked excitedly, and scurried back towards Isco to peek at the map, completely forgetting he was supposed to be far away. “Where?”

“Fifteen minutes by car,” Isco said. “It’s open tonight.”

“Can we go?” Franco asked, and he sounded like an excited little child and Isco had never seen him like that before. “Please?”

“Sure. It’s six dollars for me. Four dollars for you.”

“Why is it cheaper for me?”

“’Cause seniors over fifty five get in for cheaper.”

“Fuck you,” Franco shoved Isco in the shoulder as Isco laughed.

They made it to the planetarium safe and sound, although Franco was literally so excited he couldn’t stop bouncing in his seat and he didn’t even stop when Isco turned to glare at him. He hovered around anxiously as Isco got them the tickets – and then surprisingly, once they were inside, calmed down significantly and sat down in the theater to wait for the show to start. Isco sat quietly next to him, just. Just not sure what to do. Isco couldn’t exactly say he was interested in stars and planets.

He spent most of the show watching every sliver of Franco’s face that the brief flashes of light on the domed screen above them allowed him to. Most, because he had to admit he eventually found the planets and stars interesting. A big smile slowly made its way across Franco’s face as he watched, his eyes gleaming and glazing over with pure joy.

Isco had this sudden urge to reach over and take Franco’s hand, but he was pretty sure Franco would get mad and swat him away and Isco would’ve ruined the entire show for him. So he didn’t.

Franco remained seated in his chair after the show ended, half sliding off it, just. Just staring ahead at the now empty screen even though everyone was getting up and leaving.

“That was incredible,” he said.

Isco smiled. “Yeah, pretty amazing.”

“You see how small we are?” Franco continued in a whisper. “The world out there. It stretches out forever. It stretches out to _infinity_ , it gives infinity a whole new meaning. There’s so many things out there we don’t know about. Maybe alternate universes exist. Maybe there’s a universe where Franco didn’t meet Isco. Could you imagine that?”

“No,” Isco whispered. Because. Because he _couldn’t._

Franco smiled up at the curved ceiling. “Me neither.”

And things were getting a little too cozy and Isco had made a pact with himself not to get too close to Franco emotionally so he pinched the fabric of Franco’s sleeve in his hand and tugged. “C’mon, let’s go get dinner.”

“There’s stargazing on the roof at eight thirty,” Franco said.

“We’ll be back by then. Get some food from a food truck. There’s like a million of them.”

Franco seemed pleased that Isco was such a good sport and didn’t grumble about wasting time looking at the sky. They got outside and it was fucking dark but they walked about ten minutes down the street and there was a food truck in a parking lot so they got tacos and sat on the curb to eat them – well, Isco sat on the curb. Franco asked for an extra paper plate so he could sit on it. It was quiet. Completely silent except for their chewing noises. Isco wondered if Franco was thinking about all the infinities again.

“Hey,” Franco finally said after finishing his tacos. Which, well. Took _ages._ “Thanks.”

“For?”

“Coming here. Looking at the sky with me. Don’t think I can’t tell you’re not having so much fun.”

“It’s not so bad,” Isco said.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, just,” Isco made a vague gesture with his hand. “I don’t want this trip to just be about what I want to do. I want…I want you to have fun, too.”

“But it is, though,” Franco pointed out. “It’s about what you want to do.”

“Yeah, but you’re here, too. You have to do something you like, too.”

Franco went quiet. He put his empty paper plate on the ground in front of him, near his feet, and stared at it for a while before started to play with it, his fingers folding the sides in and unfolding them again, before folding all four sides in together and producing a little square. He used his feet to stomp on it until it was flat.

“You know I mentioned alternate universes just now?” he said softly.

“Yeah?” Isco said.

“There’s this theory, this thing,” Franco continued, staring at the flattened paper plate. “That suggests that every decision we make branches off into a different universe. Whenever we make a choice, we end up living in this possibility, this universe, but there’s this version of us that’s living out the other decision. The other fork in the road. And we can’t go back in time and re-do it, we can’t make that same decision again, because we’re already living it somewhere else. And no one can prove it, because, well. How would they? They can’t have two of themselves living in the same universe. So, like. I think about it a lot. There are so many different universes that alternate Francos could be living in. What if I’d chosen not to walk into the bathroom unannounced on that night Paulo and I became fuck buddies? What if I’d chosen not to support Paulo’s decision to be with Alvaro? What if I’d stopped keeping in contact with Paulo when he left for Juventus? What if I’d refused to attend the press conference they held? What if…what if I’d chosen to believe I wasn’t aromantic, and I was in a steady relationship?”

Isco remained quiet. He didn’t really get what Franco was getting at. But that turned out to not be a problem, because Franco was getting to that.

“I wouldn’t have met you, Alarcon,” Franco said. “In all of those decisions, if I’d gone the other way, then I wouldn’t have met you. We wouldn’t have become friends. Become…this. There were so many times I could have gone the wrong way, but I didn’t. I didn’t. And now I’m here, in fucking Vegas, with you, Alarcon. And I’m happy. I’m happy I’m in this universe. I think the Francos in those other universes are having a fucking horrible time.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. There was this. This thudding feeling in his heart, like an entire den of butterflies had just been released in his chest. “You think so?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I think the other Iscos are having a fucking horrible time, too.”

Franco turned to him and reflected his smile. “There’s one Isco who’s playing at the Euros. Remember that. There’s one you who’s playing at the Euros. Maybe not just one. Maybe three, or four.”

“Or a hundred.”

“Or a hundred.”

Isco turned his smile to the ground. This was how Franco showed his affection. It wasn’t in bed. It wasn’t physically. It wasn’t romantically.

It was with _words_. It was standing up for his friends and being there when they needed him. It was with his fucking incredible mind that conjured up thoughts that no ordinary person could. He went the roundabout way, but. But he did it so fucking well.

“You’re not falling for me, are you?” Isco asked, just to break the silence and pop the tension. Just. Just joking. Because he knew Franco would never.

Franco burst into soft laughter and shoved him in the shoulder. “Fat hope.”

“You know, when Alvaro and Paulo first asked me to go to that press conference, I was skeptical? I was like, why do they need me there, and is my name going to be blacklisted or anything? It was a little selfish of me, I know. But I just. You know. If I hadn’t gone, then I wouldn’t have met you. There’s an Isco who didn’t go to that press conference. And there’s an Isco who rejected you when you asked him out on this vacation. I hope those two are having a horrible time wishing they were me.”

Franco smiled at the ground. They sat there quietly again, for the next five minutes, until Franco said softly, “I’m having fun. Just saying. I was having fun even before we came to this observatory. You know I always have fun whenever orgasms are involved.”

“Yeah,” Isco laughed. He stood up and dusted himself off. “C’mon. We should head back if you want to see any stars.”

So they did, and Franco was always at the head of the queue for the telescope listening attentively to whatever the guy had to say, and Isco stood at the side just watching him because he had barely ever seen Franco have so much fucking fun and he wasn’t going to miss even one second of it. He went up to the telescope, though, each time Franco beckoned him to.

“That’s two and a half million light years away from us,” he said, hovering around Isco anxiously as Isco peered into the eyepiece at this big bright object. They were practically the last two people left.

“How far is that?”

“It means the light travelled two and a half million years to get to us. And light is the fastest thing in the universe. That’s how far it is. It’s a few trillion kilometers.”

“It’s a star?”

“It’s a galaxy.”

“So how many stars?”

“Like a trillion.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“And the sun is just one star.”

“Yeah,” Franco said, seemingly proud that Isco was getting it. “It’s like looking back in time. To two and a half million years ago. Not exactly, but sort of.”

“So like time travel,” Isco said.

“Kinda, yeah.”

And then they were chased out because the place was closing, so they got outside and called a cab. Franco was quiet again, which was expected, because even though they’d only spent like forty-five minutes stargazing, it’d probably provided Franco with a lot of material to do his deep thinking.

When they got into the back of the cab Franco sat in the middle instead of at the window, squashing Isco towards the side. He asked the driver to turn on the radio. He leaned towards Isco, his lips warm against Isco’s ear, and whispered, “I’m going to fuck you so good tonight, Francisco Alarcon.”

Isco smiled. He could feel his cheeks turning hot but he was lucky it was night and the cab was dark. “So, stars turn you on?” he asked Franco.

“You turn me on.”

“Fuck off,” Isco whispered.

“It’s a reward,” Franco said. “Tonight it’s all you, Alarcon.”

“That’s a deal.”

“Mmhmm. I had so much fun today and it’s only fair you have the same.”

And my oh my, Franco sure didn’t turn back on his promise.

He treated Isco like _royalty_. He let Isco be in control. Let Isco do whatever the fuck he wanted. He let Isco be under him, on top of him; he let Isco thread his fingers through Franco’s hair until it got all greasy from sweat; he let Isco hold his hands, let Isco trace Franco’s bony fingers and thick veins with his fingertips, with his tongue; he let Isco intertwine their fingers together, let Isco hold on to his hand like all of this actually meant something to the both of them; he let Isco do some post-sex cuddling, draped over Franco in exhaustion, his face buried in Franco’s shoulder.

“Shit,” Isco breathed, half because the sex was amazing and half because, well. Isco was rapidly falling for Franco and he wanted to stop, he wanted this to _fucking stop_.

Franco smiled against the back of Isco’s ear. He gently shoved Isco off him and lay there for a while before pulling his arm out from under Isco. “You’re touchy. Didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not,” Isco said. “I thought I couldn’t be touchy. But today I’m king.”

“Fuck you,” Franco said, and then turned on his side so he faced Isco. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Isco asked. Franco nodded. “Okay. I’ll remember that.”

Franco smiled again. He examined Isco’s face for a while, his bright brown eyes darting around slowly. Isco tried to hold his gaze like he’d always done, but. But he couldn’t. For the first time, he couldn’t. He tried not to squirm although he was warm as fuck under Franco’s watch.

He heaved an internal sigh of relief when Franco finally turned the other way to get his phone, and then faced the ceiling playing with it, the screen casting a faint glow on his face. Isco told himself that he just had to get through this week. Just this week, and then he wouldn’t have to see Franco every fucking day and his stupid heart could calm the fuck down and Isco could carry on with his normal life.

He turned his head to the side again to watch Franco fiddle around with his phone. He just couldn’t help it. Every time he looked at Franco now, he saw a fucking sky of stars. He saw all the infinites. All the different universes in Franco’s eyes. Franco’s head was an entire universe on its own, one which Isco could only see brief patches of at any one time. But no matter which patch of sky Isco was looking at, it was mesmerizing. No matter which constellation, which galaxy Franco was showing to him, Isco found it equally amazing.

“Watcha doin’?” he finally asked to break the silence.

“Trying to see what we can do tomorrow.”

“What have you found?”

“Do you like rides?”

“Like, amusement rides?”

“Yeah,” Franco said, showing Isco a website with a list of all the thrill rides in Vegas. “You like them?”

“Sure.”

“You the kind who’ll scream and burst my eardrum?”

“What,” Isco said. “Rude.”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Franco chuckled, taking his phone back.

“No, fuck you, look at me,” Isco grabbed Franco’s shoulder. “Do I look like the kind who will scream?”

Franco blinked once. “Yeah,” he said, deadpan.

“Fuck you, Vazquez,” Isco shoved him back into place as he laughed.

“There’s a ton of them,” he said. “You wanna go?”

“I won’t scream.”

“I find that hard to believe with how much noise you already make when I fuck you.”

“You’re mean, Vazquez.”

“Yeah, I’m mean, you say that one more time. I’m your only friend now,” Franco said before pausing. “Okay, that was mean. I’m sorry I said that.”

Isco burst into laughter. “Yeah, I wanna go.”

“Okay, that’s the plan, then,” Franco locked his phone with a sigh and placed it on the bedside table. “Night, Francisco.”

“Night,” Isco whispered as Franco turned the other way.

But instead of going to sleep he just lay there for a while, staring at the patterns on the ceiling, counting the number of times he heard a sports car zoom past the street below. Listening to Franco breathe and trying to slow his heartbeat to match Franco’s breaths. Because at least Franco’s breaths were slow and regular.

About fifteen minutes later Isco was pretty sure Franco had fallen asleep, so he just. He let his instinct take over. The side of him that did whatever it wanted to do.

Isco rolled over towards Franco, popped himself up on his elbows, leaned over Franco, and kissed him softly on his cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Franny,” Isco whispered, even though he was pretty sure Franco couldn’t hear. He was asleep, anyway. But it put Isco at ease. He fell asleep soon after that, quietly and smoothly and with a smile.

\------

Franco wasn’t asleep.

In fact, he was made _even less_ asleep by that. He lay there for like, an entire hour, eyes so wide open they were hurting, his heart fucking _flying_ out of his chest. Isco wasn’t supposed to do that. He wasn’t supposed to have any sort of affection that surpassed friendliness.

But Franco gave that some thought and realised he had no right to tell Isco what he was supposed or not supposed to do.

Franco had told Isco from literally the very first day that he wasn’t to get too attached. Isco knew what he was getting into. Franco had made it very clear. And that was everything Franco could do. Nothing else. He couldn’t tell Isco how to live.

And maybe it _was_ friendliness. After all, Isco had told him literally just a few minutes ago that he liked to be touchy.

He wasn’t sure how he fell asleep but he woke up the next morning to Isco buzzing around like an annoying wasp. He whistled while showering and banged around in the bathroom and came out flooding the entire room with a pungent strawberry scent.

“What the fuck is that smell?” Franco groaned with his eyes still closed.

“You don’t like strawberries?” Isco asked. He sounded genuinely concerned.

Franco groaned again. “Don’t you have like, non-fruity soap?”

“I don’t have soap. It came with the room.”

“Jesus Christ,” Franco sighed. “Why didn’t you just use mine?”

“I didn’t want you to yell at me again. Are we seriously having this argument right now? It’s fucking eight thirty in the morning.”

Franco rolled over until he managed to get out of bed. He tried holding his breath while he cleaned up but eventually got all red-faced so he just used a whole lot of his mint eucalyptus stuff instead, to mask the smell. At this rate he was going to run out before they were done with this vacation. And then he’d have to use this ugly strawberry thing. The thought made Franco want to barf.

The lift was pretty crowded when they went downstairs for breakfast. Franco ended up all pressed up against Isco in the back corner of the lift.

“Better not stand too close to me or you’ll end up smelling like strawberry,” Isco whispered.

“Fuck you,” Franco whispered back.

Isco started to laugh, pretty loudly given how squashed everyone was. “It’s pretty funny imagining you smelling like strawberries.”

“Shut the fuck up, Alarcon.”

“It’s only funny because it’s so completely _not you_.”

“Yeah?” Franco asked. They finally reached the ground floor and everyone flooded out of the lift. “What scent am I?”

“Mint eucalyptus.”

“No, besides that.”

“I don’t know, like,” Isco shrugged before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Something nice and fresh. Like the ocean, but not salty. Maybe like a lake. Like water. It’s a scent that’d be in a bright sea blue bottle.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“What’s mine?”

“Strawberries.”

“Fuck you.”

Silence as they walked into the restaurant and got their food from the buffet. They found a table near the window, looking out at the sidewalk outside the hotel.

“Yours is like mountain air,” Franco finally said. “Chilly, fresh, and sharp. It doesn’t smell like anything at all, it’s just. Just a feeling.”

Isco smiled at him. He didn’t say anything, just appeared to be satisfied with Franco’s answer.

They ate silently, Isco leaving to get them both second servings after he finished his first. Franco was too late in trying to warn him not to eat too much because he was just going to puke everything out after the rides. He did eventually tell him that, though, when he came back with the new servings.

“That’s the fun part, isn’t it?” was Isco’s response.

Franco rolled his eyes. He sighed. He could never understand Isco yet he found it so fucking fun being with him.

They finally got outside after Franco finished his food, and Isco finally spoke again to ask, “So what colour’s my bottle?”

“Grey,” Franco said.

“That’s boring.”

“Purple, then. Dark purple.”

“Nice.”

Franco got his phone out and pulled out the map of the top ten rides in Vegas. He decided to start at the nearest one and Isco just let him. Franco was glad he was back in control somewhat. He didn't think he could take another day with Isco holding his giant map.

Franco survived the first ride. And the second. And all the others that came after. And he _had_ been right. Isco was a screamer. Franco wasn't sure if he just did it on purpose to goad Franco, but. But he was fucking loud. He screamed at nothing. He even screamed when the ride went uphill.

It wasn't that Franco was emotionless when it came to rides. Franco had never had the habit of screaming. He just liked the feeling of the wind in his hair and the thrill that coursed through his veins. But Isco just. Just laid everything out on the fucking table.

But a few rides later Franco couldn't help but join in. He started by bursting into laughter at Isco looking all bouncy and excited as the ride ascended, and then starting to scream as it descended. He didn't even sound excited. He sounded _terrified_. And it made Franco laugh all the way down and got him more out of breath than rides usually did.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” Isco panted as they alighted the ride because well. Franco couldn't stop laughing.

“It's funny. You being so fucking scared.”

“This one was the worst, okay.”

“You were so excited when it was going up,” Franco said, and then burst into laughter all over again. “Fuck, your face is all red!”

“Fuck you,” Isco said. He stopped walking for a second and held on to his tummy like he was going to throw up. “I think I need a break.”

“Told you not to eat too much,” Franco said. He went closer to Isco and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. You need to puke or something?”

“I don't know. Let's sit down somewhere.”

They ended up sitting in a parking lot again because it was the safest place. They couldn't go hang out in a random hotel lobby knowing full well that Isco was gonna barf any moment. They sat there quietly until Isco finally caught his breath.

“Screaming helps,” he said.

“How?” Franco asked.

“I don't know. It's a sort of release, I guess. Your heart feels like coming out of your mouth so you're like, virtually letting it. It makes me feel better, at least.”

And well, Franco had to admit that made a lot of sense.

“You can't keep everything to yourself, Vazquez,” Isco continued, staring at the ground near his feet. “Sometimes you have to call out. Everyone's doing it. Not just on a thrill ride. In real life, too. It's almost natural. Like, what else would you do on a ride? Just sit there? It's awkward.”

And _that_ made a lot of sense, too. Isco was pretty wise. And Franco did have a good time laughing on the last ride, even if it was just him seeking entertainment at Isco’s reaction. Maybe screaming would have the same, or better, effect.

So Franco tried it on their next ride, after Isco had recovered enough. He screamed along with Isco and he heard Isco start to laugh, which in turn made Franco enjoy it _even more_. He was smiling when they got off the ride, and Isco beamed when he saw.

“See?” he said.

Franco just gave Isco’s hair a ruffle. They got on one more ride before they grabbed a super late lunch in a street café, all sweaty and red-faced and exhausted. They sat at a table near the window, again, because Isco seemed to catch on about Franco liking windows. Not just plane windows, but windows in general. Franco liked to watch things. Watch people.

They ate silently. Isco seemed to be okay with silences as long as he was doing something, like eating. Maybe he’d always be okay as long as his mouth was moving in some way. He did eventually speak first, though, to whine, “I’m tired as fuck.”

Franco checked his watch. It was only half past four. “You wanna go back and just chill for a bit?”

“Yeah, maybe later at night we can go to some casinos or something.”

So they got back to their room and Franco made Isco take a shower before they got into bed and both conked out immediately for three whole hours, only waking up when it was dark outside and the clock read half past eight.

“I’m getting old,” were Franco’s first words, mumbled into the pillow. His body was a little sore from how much it’d been violently jostled around earlier in the day.

“You are,” Isco agreed, and Franco didn’t even have the energy to punch him in the shoulder, so he did it in his mind.

And then he dragged Franco out of bed – for someone so fucking _tiny_ , Isco sure was strong as fuck – and back into the heart of the strip, popping inside some of the casinos but never reaching into their pockets for any money. They just got inside, took a walk around, watched some people play, and then headed on to their next one. Franco’s calves got a little sore, but. But he couldn’t complain. Isco seemed to be having a good time.

By the time Isco was finally contented with how much they’d covered, it was around midnight. They found a coffee shop that was still open and got inside for some food. Franco just plopped his ass down on a chair and waited for Isco to get whatever he wanted.

He came back with a milkshake for Franco, a cup of tea for himself, and a cheesecake to share.

“You’re drinking tea?” Franco asked. “How will you sleep?”

“It’s a calming infusion,” Isco said. “Chamomile and whatever. It’s supposed to help you sleep.”

“How old are you, seventy?”

“Fuck you, you’re the one who drinks that mate thingy.”

“That doesn’t make me old.”

“Drinking tea doesn’t make me old,” Isco said. He picked up his cup and very pointedly stared at Franco over its rim as he drank. And the sight of that, of Isco fucking drinking tea out of a fucking teacup, saucer and all – it was pretty hilarious. It made Franco snort out some of his milkshake. “Fuck you, Vazquez. You spend all your time bullying me.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Franco said, and then started laughing again. “Every time I think you’re cool, you go and do something dumb like use strawberry soap or hold a fucking huge map on the street or drink tea at night or scream uphill on a thrill ride.”

“You think I’m cool?” Isco asked excitedly.

“That wasn’t the point of whatever I said.”

“But you think I’m cool.”

“Only until you go and do something stupid.”

“So when I finish this tea, I’ll be cool.”

Franco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

Isco was contented enough with that. He sat there sipping his stupid tea and taking tiny bites of the cheesecake.  They eventually managed to finish it between them and Isco sat watching Franco slurp up the very last bit of his milkshake.

“You know, on our first night, you asked me how much this is working out of a hundred percent?” Isco asked. “And I said ninety?”

“Yeah,” Franco said.

“It’s a hundred now.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. “Not ninety-nine because –“

“– because the one percent is your stupid face?” Isco finished. “Yeah, that’ll work too.”

“Fuck you,” Franco said, but. But affectionately. Too affectionately for his own liking.

They started their walk back to their hotel and Franco wanted to take the long way and Isco didn’t stop him. He did ask why, though, and gave an understanding smile when Franco told him his favourite time was night.

“Can’t see any stars here, though, it’s too bright,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but,” Franco shrugged. “I don’t know. I like cities when it’s night. They’re pretty.”

“Especially if they’re colourful like Vegas?”

“Yeah.”

“I think so, too,” Isco said. “I don’t know, it seems. Seems magical. It makes you feel small.”

“And this place never sleeps. Makes it even better.”

“Like nights make you feel lonely but city nights make you feel like there are people in it with you.”

“Yeah,” Franco smiled, thankful that Isco just. He _got it_.

“Hey,” Isco said softly. “Thanks, again. For, you know. This whole thing.”

“Yeah,” Franco said again. “No problem.”

They walked for a while before stopping at a street corner and sitting down on the curb to do some people-watching. They made up stories for every person, every group of people who walked by. The tired old man walking by in a polo shirt and a bag of clothes? Finally heading home after a late night security shift. The young man in a suit with his tie loosened at the collar and shirt half tucked out, reeking heavily of alcohol as he stumbled past, a relieved look on his face? Just closed a massive business deal with some businessmen from Japan. The group of giggling young mid-20s girls, decked in stilettos and fancy cocktail dresses, makeup still immaculately done? Bachelorette party, one of them probably had a veil in her purse and was going to marry the love of her life in a few days and live happily ever after. The group of rowdy men zooming past in a loud sports car, heads and arms out the windows and screaming something no one could make out? Probably won a huge fortune in one of the casinos and had bought the fucking sports car, maybe accidentally bought a fancy Vegas apartment and got too drunk to realise it.

The heavily bearded old man who stared at Isco and Franco as he walked past, with no shoes and four holes in his t-shirt and a huge tear down the side of his Bermuda shorts? No story for him. He was homeless. They gave him some money for food and he thanked them a thousand times.

“You know what?” Franco said as they finally headed back, strolling side by side with their hands in their pockets. “You’re not cool. You’re fun. And that’s more important.”

Isco turned to him with this smile that was a mixture of pleasant surprise and pride. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’re fun too. That’s why we always have such a great time.”

“Not because I give great sex?”

“Fuck you, no,” Isco said, blushing a little. “Okay, yes, a little bit.”

“More than a little bit.”

And Isco refused to acknowledge that, so they argued all the way back to their room, took off all their clothes before getting into bed so they didn’t have to shower again, and lay down facing each other, still arguing. Naked and not having sex, but _arguing_. God, they were fucking idiots, Franco thought.

He listened to Isco sweet-talk his way to victory, though, not willing to shut his eyes until he was sure Franco was giving in. And eventually Franco did, because Isco trying his best not to fall asleep just so he could get an edge over Franco was super endearing.

Isco fell asleep barely a minute after Franco had relented. He fell asleep _in the middle of a sentence._

Franco started laughing softly to himself. He felt all warm inside and he had _no fucking idea_ why. He found himself sliding closer to Isco, until his head was resting in the gap between their pillows. Unlike how premature Isco had been the previous night, Franco was pretty sure Isco was fast asleep right then, given how tired he was.

He tucked one of Isco’s stray curls into the bunch of hair on top of his head. He leaned a little closer and pressed his lips as softly against Isco’s forehead as he could. He smiled when the stray curl bounced back down against his cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Franny,” Franco whispered.

He couldn’t explain why, but every second he spent with Isco just felt so wholesome. Even in sleep. This wasn’t Franco – Franco knew himself well enough to realise that _this wasn’t him_ , Franco never behaved this way, never felt as comfortable as he did right then outwardly expressing his affection, no matter verbally or physically.

But now he was breaking all his own rules. And discovering that they were needless after all.


	11. I Wanna Waste All Of My Time With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Fake It by Bastille.

After spending a couple of days just lazing around in their room and taking long walks down the strip and going on more thrill rides – and _doing the laundry_ , Franco actually did his own fucking laundry and offered to do Isco’s because they’d both run out of clothes and he literally took _one entire day_ to do it – they decided to get their asses out and do some exploring.

They rented a car in preparation for their drive out to the Red Rock and up its trails. They used it to drive around the city, outside the strip, the night before their adventure. They parked in a random parking lot, sat on the front hood, and talked about the stars.

The next morning, they woke up earlier than they had ever in their entire vacation. Franco got up first, and headed into the bathroom to shower while Isco whined in bed about how no one should ever wake up at six-thirty in the morning.

He came out of the shower to see Isco already sitting up in bed – thankfully, or Franco thought he’d go over and whack Isco on the head – and staring at his phone with this perplexed look on his face.

“What’s up?” Franco asked.

Isco turned to him like he was surprised that Franco had suddenly appeared. “Alvaro,” he said. “He’s coming back to Madrid.”

“Like, to play? In Real?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Paulo?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just read the club’s announcement.”

“Do you want to call him?”

“I’ll call him from the car or something,” Isco said. He put his phone down and went to shower.

Franco sat in one of the chairs and checked his phone. A missed call from his agent and two text messages.

 _Sorry, forgot you’re in Vegas,_ the first one read. The second one, _Final stage. I need your confirmation and we can start drafting the contract._

Franco sighed. His agent had been a more-than-necessary presence throughout this holiday. But that had been the whole point, because Franco surely wasn’t going to throw his football aside just for this holiday. Just for _Isco_.

But over the past two weeks or so Franco found himself only drifting towards one thing: moving to Spain wasn’t such a bad idea.

The Italian tabloids had great hopes for him. Franco Vazquez and Paulo Dybala, the formidable frontmen of Palermo. Now one of them was in Juve. It was only right that the other went out and did something great as well. But that had always been all there was to it. Franco had been stagnant where he was. Of course, his path had always been mapped out for him by journalists not really knowing what they were talking about. Franco had never followed those paths.

But when Sevilla came calling, Franco thought maybe it was a good place to start.

It had all been hush-hush, of course, as it always had been with Franco. Franco really did think it was time for him to leave Palermo and make his mark somewhere new. And now that he already had friends in Spain – he turned to the bathroom door just in time for Isco to reappear declaring that they were going to be all sweaty after hiking anyway and there was no need for a shower – maybe this was it. This was his time. Everything was falling nicely into place.

 _Ok, go ahead,_ he replied.

He received a thumbs up in reply. He put his phone in his pocket and went to his suitcase to dig for an extra set of clothes just in case they really got too sweaty. From the reflection in the window, he saw Isco pull a black-hemmed white Nike singlet on. He wondered why he was surprised that Isco had a fucking singlet. Franco didn’t have any, but. Isco was like, he was like tiny and muscular and he could totally pull off a singlet. In fact, he looked kinda hot.

“Stop creeping on me through the window, creepy fuck,” Isco called as he pulled on his Bermuda shorts.

“Just wondering about your shirt.”

“It’s cooling. Did you bring any?”

“No, I can’t pull them off.”

“Yeah, all you have is like twenty different white sweaters.”

“Fuck you. I look good in white.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to get everything in white.”

“I have other colours, too.”

“Yeah, like grey. And black. You’re old and boring.”

They continued bickering all the way to the car where Isco revealed he was an absolute failure at multi-tasking because he let Franco slip into the driver’s seat while he was busy trying to prove his point by listing all of Franco’s different white, grey, or black sweaters.

“You getting in or what?” Franco asked as Isco finally realised he’d been trumped by Franco. He stood outside, glaring in at Franco. “I’m going to drive off without you.”

“You cheated,” Isco grumbled as he got in.

“But I won,” Franco said. “Isn’t that what life is to you? Winning or losing?”

“But that’s me. I thought it was right or wrong for you.”

“You mean this isn’t right? I’m older. I should drive.”

“Whatever,” Isco muttered. “Are you going to drive super slowly like an old man?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Fuck, no,” Isco said. He settled into his seat as Franco started the car. “I’m going to talk to Alvaro.”

He texted Alvaro and received a call five minutes later. Franco listened in on Isco’s side of the conversation. He spoke softly and kindly and the first thing he asked about was Paulo. He seemed surprised at Alvaro’s answer, though, and turned and stared at Franco for a few long moments before continuing his conversation.

“So,” Franco said after Isco had hung up the phone. “How is he?”

“He sounds kinda sad.”

“And Paulo?”

“They haven’t spoken.”

“What?” Franco said. “Jesus, if he hurts Paulo, I’m going to kick his ass.”

Isco started laughing. “Is there someone’s ass you _don’t_ want to kick?”

“Fuck you, we’re not going to start our third argument of the day at fucking seven thirty am.”

Isco only continued laughing, and he slid down his seat and put his feet on the dashboard and left his dusty shoeprints all over it and _God_ , Franco was so _mad_ and he pulled over and made Isco clean everything up before he was willing to start driving again.

“C’mon, Vazquez, don’t be mad,” he said. “It makes you age faster.”

“Who the fuck cares.”

“You don’t want wrinkles on that pretty face.”

“You should never put your feet up. It’s not even because they’re dirty. It’s because if we get into an accident, you break your legs.”

Isco went quiet in his seat as Franco started the car again. He stared out the passenger window for a while, and then turned back in front to stare out the windshield. “Sorry,” he finally said.

“Don’t be fucking sorry. I’m not mad.”

“You are, though.”

And, well. Franco _was._ But only because he cared. He wasn’t about to admit that out loud to Isco, though.

And then Isco suddenly twisted his body over the gearshift between them and leaned his head on Franco’s shoulder. “ _El Mudo_ cares about me,” he said.

Franco gave him a brief glance. He couldn’t believe this little dude could just completely see through him like that. How _disrespectful._

He shrugged his shoulder, toppling Isco’s head off it. “Fuck off.”

“You _do,_ ” Isco said.

“Shut up or I’m turning back to the hotel,” Franco said, even though they were almost there.

Isco gave a little laugh. He pinched Franco’s cheek between his fingers and wiggled it a few times before Franco swatted him away and he finally retreated from Franco’s personal space.

They got to Red Rock in about a half-hour, got their tickets – Isco tried again to convince Franco he qualified for the senior citizen price – and started driving along the directed driving route. It was painfully quiet. Franco never imagined himself finding silence annoying, but. Silence and silence _with Isco sitting right there_ were two completely different things.

“Talk about something,” Franco finally said.

“It’s nice outside,” was all Isco said. He was peering out the window eagerly.

“Why don't you open the window?” Franco suggested. It wasn't like Isco needed his permission or anything, but. He didn't know, Isco probably thought he was still mad or something.

Surely enough, Isco gave him a timid glance before winding down the window, immediately welcoming a huge gust of wind that blasted their hair back on their heads and made them burst into laughter.

“It's because you're driving too fast, idiot,” Isco said.

“What,” Franco said. He was way under the speed limit. “What the fuck. You complain when I drive slow, and complain when I drive fast – which _I'm not,_ by the way – what the fuck do you want me to do?”

Isco peeked at the gauge and saw Franco going at 25 miles per hour – the limit was 35. “What the fuck, you're driving so slowly.”

“See? I don't know what you want from me, Alarcon.”

“Maybe get out and walk.”

“Fuck you.”

And then. And then Franco couldn't really describe it, but everything became normal again. Like finding the right position to fall asleep in. Or finally finding the charging port with the charger in the dark. Or plugging the USB in correctly on the first try. Or the satisfying click of a seatbelt being fastened.

Isco eventually shut up because the road was too scenic for him to bear being distracted for even a second. He peered out the window again, his hair being ruffled by the breeze and this tiny smile on his face.

The road took them all the way around the entire national park area. They drove past forest trails and rock trails. They drove straight through the centre of a canyon, surrounded by red and green and grey on all four sides, a stark contrast against the cloudless blue sky. It was warm, but not enough to make them sweaty. The wind took most of the heat away. There was just one other car far ahead of them and no one else. It was quiet and actually really, really peaceful.

“Go another round,” Isco said when they were back at the start point. It was the first thing either of them had said in a half-hour.

So Franco did. Isco rolled down his window all the way and propped his arms up on it, sticking his head slightly out the window and letting the stream of air blow his hair back on his head. He shut his eyes as a big smile slowly, so _painfully slowly_ crept its way all across his face. He looked like a little puppy. He looked like how Bubu probably looked when he went to the dog park or whatever. Honestly, Franco was just so glad that Isco was having a good time.

Franco stepped harder on the accelerator so the needle tipped slightly over thirty-five. Isco gave a little laugh when he felt the stronger blast of air. “Thanks,” he said, lifting his butt a little off the seat so he could tip his head further out.

“Hey,” Franco reached over and grabbed Isco’s bicep, trying to ignore how fucking _big_ it was even under Franco’s hand. He tugged, hard enough for Isco’s arm to fall off the window and back on his lap. “Not so far.”

Isco turned and gave him a tiny smile. He looked. He looked peaceful and happy and grateful all at once. He opened his mouth to say something, but Franco beat him to it.

“Yeah, yeah, _El Mudo_ cares about you.”

Isco’s smile turned smug. He turned back to the window and stuck his head out again, but not too far, just a little bit. His arm remained in his lap.

And Franco wasn’t sure what he was thinking – or if he was even thinking _at all_ – but he just reached over and put his hand on Isco’s.

He immediately realised what he’d done, though, and tried taking his hand back before Isco could misunderstand. But it was too late. Isco was holding on tightly to the tips of Franco’s fingers, not even turning his head in from the window when he said, “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” his voice soft not only because of the wind but because of how shyly he’d said it.

And well, Franco couldn’t disagree. And he couldn’t say he didn’t like holding Isco’s fucking tiny hand. So he left his hand where it was, gently clasping Isco’s, fingers not even intertwining, just curling gently around each other, the palm of Franco’s hand against the back of Isco’s. Like Isco just needed to hold on to something. Like this entire trip was just him desperately trying to find something to hold on to that wasn’t football, and he did, and now all he needed was something _physical_ to hold on to or he’d fall over. And Franco was there, so he might as well be the one.

But as much as Isco had been speaking the truth – it was also a lie.

Franco felt his heart make this little hop in his chest. It was a foreign feeling. _Another_ foreign feeling. Frankly, Franco was tired of these foreign feelings. They came at him from all directions. Especially during this trip. Especially when he was around Isco. But this feeling was a different one. It wasn’t irksome or annoying like the others, the ones Franco couldn’t figure out.

This one was the worst because Franco figured it out immediately.

Franco had never felt this fond towards someone else before. Sure, of course, he felt fond towards tiny animals and babies. But not towards _another full-grown person._ Not outside his family. He’d never wanted to spend all his time with this one person. Never wanted to talk to someone about all the stars and planets and all the skies he hadn’t yet seen. Never wanted to watch someone’s hair fly in the wind so much that he’d break a rule in order to see it. Never wished so hard for someone’s happiness – never found himself _wanting to be the one to give it to them_.

And just as suddenly as this all happened – everything else fell into place, as well. Like tributaries eventually meeting the river they were meant to feed. All those other foreign feelings. Wanting Isco to be happy. Going way out of his own way to get Isco to smile. Constantly making sure Isco was comfortable and doing what he wanted to do. Being grateful that he was in this universe where he’d met Isco. These tributaries, the river. The river that eventually led to the big fucking lake that Isco was.

Franco realised maybe he was falling for Isco.

Franco hated it. He didn't _understand_ it. Franco wasn’t like this. _This wasn’t him_. And Franco _wouldn’t accept it_ because it would mean that he didn’t know himself, it would mean that everything he’d built up about himself, the image of himself in his head – it was all a lie. Franco wasn’t aromantic. Franco was fucking romantic as fuck.

He shook his head internally. No, he wasn’t. _He wasn’t romantic as fuck_. This was just because. Because he’d spent two fucking weeks with Isco fucking Alarcon. He was still in control. Franco was _still in control_. He _had to be_ , until he’d had time to figure this whole mess out.

So Franco tuned it out, like he’d always been good at doing. Compartmentalizing. That was what Franco knew best. That was what Franco still knew about himself. So he did it. Hand-holding. He could do that, sure, no problem.

They pulled up at the start point again twenty minutes later, and Isco was saying something but Franco couldn’t hear him so he had to physically shake his head to clear it. “What?” he asked.

“Are you okay? Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not,” Franco said, quickly pulling it out of Isco’s grasp.

“It’s sweaty, too,” Isco continued, wiping his palm on Franco’s sleeve. He didn't pursue the shaking hand thing any further, to Franco's relief.

“So which trail do you wanna take?” Franco asked.

Isco reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the map they'd grabbed from the visitor centre when they’d gotten their tickets. He opened it all the way out again, making Franco roll his eyes. It wasn't only because Isco looked so fucking dumb with his face buried in the giant map but also because like half of it was also in Franco’s way.

He finally put the map down on his lap – well, half on his lap and half on Franco’s – and jabbed his finger excitedly at one of the trails. “This one,” he said. 

So Franco drove along the route until he saw the sign for the rocky trail. He parked the car in the nearby parking lot and got out to stretch his legs a bit. The both of them were wearing tights under their Bermudas, half as an exercise habit but half also because they’d both brought fucking exercise shorts on their holiday and were too lazy to have had a chance to use them and were also too proud to admit that even to themselves, so they had to at least wear it once.

“Let's go, old man,” Isco called, tugging his cap on, walking a few steps ahead of Franco.

Franco rolled his eyes again but followed him anyway, smoothening his hair under his own cap. Despite how fond Franco was, Isco was still annoying.

He decided to focus on that instead of the fondness as he walked behind Isco, silently observing the curve his thigh muscles made whenever he cleared a high rock. His fucking bubble butt. His arms glistening with sweat under the sun. Annoyance instead of fondness. Physicality instead of emotionality. Sexuality instead of romance. Franco was good at that. He'd always been good at black and white. At dichotomies. This wasn't going to be any different.

\------

Franco may have started off behind Isco, but he eventually overtook Isco. Thanks to his freakishly long legs, of course. Isco had to hurry to catch up, and even then he couldn’t clear some of the higher rocks without more effort, and Franco just stood up there looking down at him and smiling quietly to himself, only offering his hand when Isco glared at him. The road at the top was just a gentle slope, though, so Franco started walking more quickly as Isco scurried after him.

“I should’ve brought a rope so I can pull you along by the waist,” Franco remarked, his voice drifting to Isco by the wind blowing in their faces.

“Fuck you, I’m not a dog.”

“Hurry up. It’s hot as fuck.”

“Should’ve brought a singlet, then you’ll get an even tan.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Isco quickly cleared the gap between them and grabbed on to Franco’s wrist with both his hands so Franco could pull him along. It must’ve been all the lazing around they’d done for the last two weeks, because Isco was tired as fuck and his thighs hurt and he was sweating like he’d just carried a hundred tons of stone.

Franco didn’t turn around or shake him off, just smiled a little smile to himself. “Is this what having a kid is like?” he asked.

“Good practice for you,” Isco said.

“I hope my kid is less annoying than you.”

“Fuck you. You’re mean.”

Franco gave a loud laugh. He turned his hand to grab on to one of Isco’s wrists so their arms were tightly interlocked. They continued that way for the rest of the climb all the way to the summit of whatever trail they were hiking – Isco was beginning to realise maybe he should’ve chosen one of the easier ones – and reached it about ten minutes later.

Isco was dragged all the way to the edge of the rock formation, to a nice ledge under the shade of a tree. Franco let go of him to sit down, his legs hanging over the edge, over another ledge a few feet below. Isco sat next to him quietly.

“It’s pretty up here,” Franco said.

“Yeah,” Isco said.

Silence for a while. The both of them just stared ahead at all the rock formations below them, red and grey and brown, jagged and smooth, patterned and dull. Alive with trees and dead with dirt. A pool of colours at their feet. Franco swung his legs a little, banging his heels against the rock.

“Did you know that Mars is the last planet with a rocky surface?” he suddenly asked. “Beyond that, it’s all gas or ice.”

“Yeah?” Isco was sure he heard that somewhere before. But if Franco wanted to talk about it, Isco would gladly let him.

“Mmhmm. Like, even if they look like rock. Don’t you think Jupiter looks like a ball of rock? Like, that rock over there kinda looks like Jupiter,” Franco said, pointing at a faraway red-and-brown striped rock. “But it’s just clouds. Brown clouds.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah. You know we can see Jupiter in the sky with just our eyes? I’ll point it out to you someday.”

“Okay,” Isco said. “Does it make you happy that you can see Jupiter? I mean, like. It’s almost like being close to it. As close to it as you can reasonably get.”

Franco smiled, like he was glad Isco got it. “Yeah.”

“Can we see other planets too?” Isco asked, just. Just to hear Franco’s voice. “With just our eyes?”

“Yeah, all the way to Saturn.”

“Have you seen them?”

Franco nodded. And then it was silence again. The wind blew gently against them, cooling all their sweat away. Franco just sat there, fiddling around with his fingers, his feet still restlessly swinging against the side of the ledge. He stared thoughtfully out at the wide expanse of nature in front of them. Isco tried to watch him without being too fucking obvious.

“Can I tell you something?” Franco finally said, so softly Isco almost missed it.

“Of course, yeah.”

“It’s just, no one knows yet, and I thought you’d like to know, you know, since you like knowing things.”

“And since you’re stuck with me anyway.”

Franco grinned. “Yeah, since I’m stuck with you anyway.”

“What is it?” Isco asked. Honestly, he was less curious that he was honoured Franco wanted to tell him whatever it was he wanted to say.

A brief pause, then, “I’m moving,” Franco said. “Clubs.”

“To?” Isco’s heart began to speed up as the curiosity finally took over. Maybe it was Spain. Maybe. Maybe Isco would get to see him more.

“Spain,” Franco said literally the only word that was on Isco’s mind. “Seville.”

“Which team?”

“Sevilla.”

“Cool,” Isco said as calmly as he could. He could barely contain himself and it was fucking embarrassing. “So I’ll see you more then?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“You know, Seville is just next to Málaga?” Isco said. “Where I’m from.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled.

“Yeah. Are you happy you’ll see more of me?”

“I’m happy I’ll see more of Junior.”

“That’s not fair. You should be happy to see me, too. We come in a set.”

“Nah, I’m just happy to see him, thanks.”

Isco shoved him gently in the shoulder. But Franco appeared relieved that Isco seemed to welcome him in Spain. That Isco seemed to be willing to help him. He seemed happy that he chose Isco as the first person to tell.

Frankly, Isco was fucking overjoyed. Madrid and Seville were less than three hours apart by train. No more international booty calls. Just local booty calls. Isco knew there was no reason he should be so happy, other than, well, the sex. But he _was_. He was happy not just because of the sex. He just. He liked Franco being around. Even if he was just silent or brooding or mad at something or thinking about the stars. Or a three-hour train ride away. Franco’s presence was inexplicably soothing.

“So it’s like,” Isco waved his hand around. “Confirmed?”

“My agent’s discussing the contract now. But they’re interested and I’m interested. I think it’ll go through.”

“How likely? Out of a hundred.”

“Maybe eighty.”

“And you wanna leave Palermo?”

“I think it’s time.”

“Sevilla’s a good team. They won the Europa League.”

“Well, you won the Champions League, so – wait,” Franco’s eyes widened as Isco felt a big grin start growing across his own face. “Does that. Does that mean I’ll be playing against you? In the Super Cup?”

Isco burst into laughter. He wasn’t sure why, but he just found it funny how Franco seemed so agitated. Because, well. Franco was always calm. “Yeah, you will.”

“Holy fuck, Alarcon.”

“You get to play against _me_ ,” Isco punched him in the shoulder again. “Be _honoured_.”

“Fuck off. It’s not that big a deal.”

“It is, too.”

“That’s it. My deal will fall through once they find out I spent the summer frolicking around with my Super Cup opponent.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re being dramatic.”

“Won’t it, though?”

“Don’t worry about it. After everything with Paulo and Alvaro, the entire world knows we’re friends.”

“And friends can vacation together.”

“Yeah. During summer we aren’t footballers.”

Franco appeared glad to hear Isco say that. And Isco was surprisingly comfortable saying it. Maybe it _was_ time, not just for Franco to leave Palermo, but also for Isco to get over himself not being at the Euros. It wasn’t so bad. Isco had time to rest and recharge and get to know Franco better. And besides, it was a good day. He found out he had two friends moving to Spain. There wasn’t anything bad about that day.

“So are you glad you get to play with Alvaro again?” Franco asked, like he was reading Isco’s mind. It was, honestly, fucking terrifying.

“Yeah, of course,” Isco smiled. “I mean, he had the best time at Juventus, but I know all other things aside, he’s happy to come home.”

“You think Paulo will be okay with that?”

“Honestly? I think Paulo will be more okay with it than Alvaro will be.”

Franco started laughing. “Yeah, Alvaro’s a fucking coward.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my friend like that,” Isco joked. He knew Franco was only harsh with his words and not his heart.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. I mean it in a ‘he’s a fucking coward but he’s still my friend’ way.”

“Softie,” Isco teased, shoving him in the shoulder again. Franco shoved him back, just hard enough for Isco to almost fall off the edge, but not entirely. He yelled at Franco and it started them off on like, their seventh argument of the day, about who had shoved the other more. There was no winner in that argument, evidently.

And then Franco suggested they take a selfie, so they did, with all the rock in the background. Franco retook it like a million times because he found the tiniest fault in all their photos despite not deleting any of them. Then he decided he’d like a ‘ _super artistic shot’_ of their backs as they sat on the ledge, and Isco asked him how he was going to do it, only to have Franco walk up to the tree and prop his phone up on one of the branches, adjusting it for the next fifteen fucking minutes as he directed Isco to walk around until he was in the perfect position.

“Jesus, I don’t even know why I’m hanging out with you,” Isco muttered under his breath as Franco told him to move ‘three steps to the left’ for the fifth time.

“Rude, you love hanging out with me,” Franco called.

“Can I sit down now?” Isco asked.

“Okay, yeah.”

“You better nail this one because I’m not going to wait for you to set up for the next hundred.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco said, rushing to sit next to him as the camera timer ticked. He turned his cap backwards. “Quick, look casual.”

“I’m completely casual. You’re the one fucking freaking out about a fucking photograph.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco said again, elbowing Isco in the arm as Isco turned to him in mid-laughter.

And _that_ turned out to be what the camera captured, Franco’s elbow in Isco’s arm and Isco laughing at him. Rocks in the background below them. Wind in the bits of their hair sticking out of their caps. Completely casual, just like how Franco had wanted it to be.

“This looks surprisingly nice,” Franco said as he looked at it.

“What do you mean surprisingly?” Isco asked. “Also, how did you want our backs to look casual?”

Franco had no response to that, so he gave a little ‘pfft.’ He eventually made Isco sit there for another one, where they acted casual. Isco didn’t get how to _act_ casual, but. He nailed it, anyway, just for the sake of not posing for another one.

He watched Franco scroll through all the other photos and delete the shaky ones. He was painfully anal about every aspect of each photograph. But he eventually made up his mind about the nicest ones and sent them all to Isco.

“So,” Isco finally said, to break the twenty-minute-long silence. “Do you want a ‘welcome to Spain’ kiss or something?”

Franco turned to him, a slightly eager look on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Franco took the rim of Isco’s cap and turned it backwards. “Hit me.”

So Isco did. He leaned over and took Franco’s face in his hands and pressed his open lips on Franco’s, just like how Franco’s ‘welcome to Dubai’ kiss had been. Franco gave a little breathless murmur as his lips closed around Isco’s, only to open again when Isco shoved his tongue between them. He wrapped his arms around Isco’s waist and pulled him closer, his hands slowly moving up and tipping Isco’s cap off his head so his hands could get lost in Isco’s hair. He tugged on it, using it to guide Isco wherever he wanted.

They ended up being so into it they were practically just tongue wrestling, fighting for dominance again. But there was no one around, given that it was almost noon and way too hot for anyone besides them idiots to go hiking, so Isco gladly put his all into it. Despite his heart racing as quickly as Usain Bolt at the Olympics.

Franco was the one to eventually pull away, licking his lips and holding Isco’s face firmly about seven inches away from him probably so he wouldn’t have the urge to kiss Isco again. “Fuck, we gotta stop or you’ll have to jerk me off in the middle of the fucking rock desert,” he breathed.

“Rocks turn you on, too?” Isco asked. “You have to stop being so fucking easy.”

“Do I? I’ve got you around, anyway,” Franco laughed.

“I’m not your sex slave, Vazquez.”

“I know,” Franco gave Isco’s hair a ruffle. “Let’s go. Climb another easier trail, if you want.”

“After lunch. I’m hungry.”

They headed to the car in silence, the downward trail much easier and quieter than the upward one had been. They trudged through the parking lot to their car side by side, sweaty again from the sun.

“Hey,” Isco said as he opened the driver’s door. Franco was at the passenger side, seemingly having silently passed over the driving duties to Isco. “Welcome to Spain.”

Franco smiled. “Thanks.”

“You'll do great. I'm happy for you.”

Franco’s smile turned grateful. He sat silently in his seat with his hands clasped in his lap, only nodding when Isco suggested they drive back out to eat and maybe go somewhere else if they decided not to come back. He didn't speak. Just sat there, all closed up on himself physically, like he was kinda uncomfortable being in such close proximity to Isco again in such a small space.

So Isco didn't disturb him. He was probably thinking about something deep again. Isco just focused on the road ahead and basked in the comfort of Franco’s presence. He was never going to get tired of this feeling.

\------

Once they found out the car rental service had return points all over the country, they immediately thought of the same thing.

They packed their bags, checked out of the Vegas hotel, loaded everything into the car boot, and set off on a road trip to nowhere.

They took turns driving and sleeping in the backseat. Well, Franco did most of the driving, because to call Isco a careful driver would be a lie. He was steady most of the time, but did not hesitate at all to go over the speed limit and have Franco yell at him.

Isco had to take over the night shift on their third night, though, because Franco was exhausted and conked out in the backseat.

He was very softly awakened by Isco in the middle of the night, calling, “Vazquez. Vazquez. Franco, hey.”

“What?” Franco groaned.

“Look outside,” Isco said. “Look out the window at the sky.”

Franco dragged himself into a sitting position and peered out the window. The highway was dark, with only the headlights lighting the way.

And the sky was an entire blanket of stars.

Franco gave a little gasp. The last time he’d been able to see so many stars was when he was a kid back in Argentina and his dad had brought him out somewhere dark. He had always been way too near the city. Even on the previous nights on their road trip the clouds were too thick to see anything.

But right then the entire sky was glittering and Franco thought this must be the most stars he’d ever seen in his lifetime and he was just. Just overwhelmed. It seemed like an endless stretch, the shining spots stretching as far as Franco could see, glittering at different rates, of different sizes, slightly different colours. Franco rolled down the window and stuck his head out, turning upward because he didn't want to miss a single second of this. This sliver of the universe he was allowed to see.

“Wow,” he whispered.

From the sideview mirror in front of him he saw Isco smile. “You're closer than you think, Franco.”

“I am,” Franco said softly. He felt. He felt small. Like the weight of all these stars was on him. Like he was looking at this entire universe at a glance. “Yeah.”

Isco gave a little laugh. “I feel like we should stop and make out at the side of the road or something.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Stars seem to turn you on.”

“There are too many stars to just make out. Maybe we should fuck in the backseat.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” Franco rolled his eyes. Firstly, stars _didn't_ turn him on. And secondly. “Who wants to fuck you in the backseat when I can look at these stars?”

“You wound me, Vazquez.”

Silence for a while, just the universe tilting above them and the peaceful sound of wheels rolling on tar. The dashboard clock blinked 3:05. The GPS read ’120 miles to destination.’

“Where are we?” Franco asked.  

“Somewhere on the road to San Francisco. You didn't think we could skip San Francisco, did you? My name is in it. No way we’re skipping it.”

For some reason, that made Franco laugh. His laugh escaped with the backward gust of wind as he continued watching the stars out the window. They'd already been to Salt Lake City and Portland. Maybe it’d be cool to make a circle back down again to San Francisco.

“It kinda has my name in it, too,” Franco said.

“Don't try to claim this. It's mine. Go find a San Franco or something.”

“Don't be rude to your elders.”

Silence for a while. The GPS read ’90 miles to destination’ when Isco said, “They call it San Fran, so maybe we can share.”

“Yeah?” Franco laughed again. “How nice of you.”

“Of course. I’m always nice. You just don’t appreciate it.”

“I do,” Franco said. He didn’t want Isco to think that he didn’t. “Hey. You know that?”

Isco smiled, looking into the sideview mirror like he knew Franco was looking into it too. Franco reached to the front seat and nudged his chin so he’d focus on the road, but ended up being requested to give Isco’s shoulders a massage because they were sore. Franco rolled his eyes, but. But he obliged. How could he not? Isco relaxed immediately once Franco’s hands landed on his shoulders. Franco kneaded the knots out of them, hard enough to make Isco squeal. Isco commented about how Franco’s gigantic hands finally had some use other than jerking Isco off, which earned him a hard smack and caused another loud yelp.

Franco eventually dozed off again with his arms around the neck rest of the driver’s seat and Isco’s neck, his hands resting on Isco’s chest, his cheek pressed against the back of the seat.

He was awoken about two hours later by Isco gently tugging on his fingers. It was almost six in the morning and the stars were no longer visible because they were so close to the city. What remained were a few tiny specks here and there – enough for Franco, honestly.

“Where are we?” he asked. They seemed to be parked in a random, really dark parking lot.

“San Francisco,” Isco said. “I got lost and all you did was sleep.”

“Fuck you, you didn’t even wake me,” Franco shoved him in the shoulder.

“Let’s get outside. Watch the sunrise.”

“Where exactly are we?”

“Near the Golden Gate Bridge,” Isco said. He got out and stood outside stretching his legs and wiggling his feet for a while. Franco followed him outside and stretched a bit, and then walked behind him as he jabbed his finger at the ‘Battery Spencer’ sign and followed the arrow on it.

And, well, it was like six in the morning after all so the abandoned military post looked creepy as fuck, and Isco – _being Isco_ – slowed down so he could cling on to Franco’s arm like he was a little child. He stuck close to Franco’s side and Franco found great joy in suddenly speaking or whispering creepily just to see him jump. But he didn’t shove Isco out of the way. Didn’t let Isco go. Because if Isco _were_ to get lost in this fucking terrifying place, Franco would legitimately be the saddest person on earth.

They finally got to the top after about a half-hour, and they were both tired as fuck because neither of them had gotten proper sleep in the past three days and even if they did get a nap, it was spent all curled up in super uncomfortable positions. So they were both panting and sore when they got up there but neither of them made any snarky comment. It was. It was strangely peaceful.

Franco sat down on that one big rock nearest to the edge and sighed. The bridge was lit up in its golden night lights and the city was just awakening beyond it. Isco wandered over and sat on the ground, leaning on the rock. Franco realised that was a good idea, so he did the same thing.

“About an hour to sunrise,” Isco said, and when Franco just turned and stared at him, continued, “I googled it. I did all the work while you were asleep, pig.”

Franco rolled his eyes. _He’d_ done all the work the last few days while Isco slept but of course all Isco could harp on was this. He stared ahead, watching the city flicker alive below them. He stretched out his legs and wiggled his toes. Isco’s legs looked short next to his. He briefly considered pointing that out but eventually decided otherwise. He liked this relative peacefulness.

No one seemed bothered to get up to where they were at that unearthly hour of the morning, so they were left alone even as the sky began to turn dark blue when the sun started to rise. And that was fifty minutes or nearly an hour later. Neither of them said a word for all of that time.

Until Isco suddenly said, “Franco.”

It wasn’t very often Isco called Franco by his name. Well, it wasn’t very often, or at all, Franco called Isco ‘Isco,’ so. But anyway. It made Franco’s heart skip a little, like maybe Isco wanted to talk about something serious. “Yeah?” Franco said.

“Do you think this will ever be over?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, us,” Isco gestured at the air in front of him. “Do you think this thing between us, it’ll ever be over?”

Franco swallowed the huge lump in his throat. “Why? Do you want it to be?”

“I just want to know what you think.”

Franco gave it a very, very long thought. The sun was peeking over the horizon when he said, “Maybe if you find another girl to have a baby with.”

“Fuck you,” Isco used his shoulder to shove Franco’s and ended up just leaning on Franco. “Do you want it to be?”

“I don’t, Alarcon. You have to stop thinking that.”

“I mean, even when it ends, we’ll still be friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

Franco was in control. He was in control. That was what he told himself. He wasn’t falling for Isco, not at all, not one fucking bit. It was just that his mind had been set to this ‘ _I have to make sure Isco is happy because the Euro stuff got him upset_ ’ setting, and much as Franco had always been good at compartmentalizing, he had never been good at letting things go, even when his aim had been reached. So Franco had been tuned to ‘ _Isco is your king now_ ’ mode. But now, nearing the end of their holiday – actually, Franco didn’t know, because Spain were still in the competition – Franco’s duties were almost completed and he knew, for himself, that he wouldn’t spend a prolonged period of time feeling this fond towards Isco once they got back to their own lives. This was a platonic, purely caring-for-a-friend thing, his feelings. It was definitely that. He wasn’t going to _let it be_ anything other than that.

“But maybe this has to end one day,” Isco said.

Franco’s heart fell, but he refused to acknowledge it. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. This is just summer. Maybe when we get back to our own lives then this won’t be a thing anymore.”

“So I’m just your summer fling, you think?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Franco said softly. “I don’t know either . We’ll have to, just, I don’t know. Take it as it comes. But you know. I’ll always be here if you wanna hook up or whatever. No strings attached.”

Isco gave a little sigh. “I think you’re a really great friend.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled.

“Yeah. I mean, you practically toured the entire west USA with me just to make me feel better.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“That’s good, then.”

“But you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“You haven’t even gotten a single orgasm the last three days.”

Franco laughed, causing Isco’s head to bobble around on his shoulder. “That doesn’t really matter anymore,” he said, although. Although the fact that this was drifting further away from sex just meant that they were both treading towards dangerous territory. But he shook it aside again.

“Thank you,” Isco said softly. “Really. Franco. Thank you.”

Franco smiled. “You’re weird when you’re sleepy.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, never mind that, you’re weird all the time.”

“Fuck you,” Isco said, punching Franco on the thigh.

Silence again. The sun was a perfect semicircle over the horizon, peeking from between the vertical bars of the Golden Gate Bridge, its rays spreading out in all directions over the ripples of the water.

“This is pretty romantic,” Isco remarked, his head still resting on Franco’s shoulder. Franco didn’t dare to move a muscle.

“Mmhmm,” Franco murmured. “Alarcon. Hey. You…you know that this is all it is. Yeah? It’s just sex. It’s not that I don’t want to give you more. I _can’t_. Alarcon. You know that, yeah?”

Isco smiled at the rising sun. He looked a little sad. “Yeah.”

Franco grasped Isco’s chin with his hand and tilted Isco’s face upwards. He pressed his lips on Isco’s, not hard and wet but soft. Soft and kind and the only way he knew he would be able to get the point across to Isco that he _cared_ , just that he was unable to in the way that other people did. This was the only way he knew how. Physically. He didn’t even think about it, didn’t even have to think about it, just went for it, dove into the kiss before he could stop himself.

Isco’s lips welcomed his for the first couple of seconds, opening and then closing gently around Franco’s. His hand moved to hold Franco’s cheek, and then slipped down to Franco’s collar, which he gripped a firm fistful of.

And then he pulled away and said, “You can’t just kiss me like this after saying that.”

“This is everything I know, Alarcon,” Franco whispered. “This is it. I don’t know how else to tell you.”

“I know,” Isco smiled. He gave Franco’s cheek a little double-pat and settled with the back of his head leaning on the rock again, his gaze directed to the front so he didn’t have to look at Franco any longer. “Don’t worry about it.”

They stayed where they were until the sun hung high above San Francisco, a fiery ball in the bright blue sky, casting its light on the city.

“Sun is shining on you, Francisco,” Franco whispered, unsure if Isco was asleep.

Isco smiled. His eyes were actually open, Franco realised, just open enough to see what was going on. “It’s San Fran. Sun is shining on _us_.”

Franco gave Isco’s hair a ruffle. It was impossible not to be fond of this little guy.

“Vazquez,” Isco continued, and Franco was honestly quite relieved to hear himself being called by his last name again. “Will you tell me when the last time comes?”

Franco smiled. “It’s not up to me, Alarcon. It’s up to you. When you want to leave. When you find someone better.”

Isco smiled back, and he looked half just so fucking _relieved_ and half just. Just still a little sad. “Okay.”

“C’mon. Don’t be sad. Then this entire trip would be a failure.”

“I’m not sad. Just really sleepy.”

“Let’s go find some hotel and take a nap.”

“A hotel in our San Fran.”

Franco smiled again. “Yup.”

They finally got up and went back to their car, drove across the Golden Gate Bridge to some spectacular early morning sunshine sights, and found themselves a posh-looking hotel overlooking the San Francisco coastline. They sent the car off with the valet and watched their bags get pushed inside by the bellboy. They smelled like fucking crap after three showerless days that Franco wasn’t sure how he survived, but they hooked their arms together and strolled in through the grand front doors with big smiles on their faces.

Because no one soul recognized them immediately on the street, and the next few days were the last few days where they could do whatever the fuck they wanted and not be dragged for it. So they were going to live them to the fullest, making sure the summer was going to end with a blazing trail of glory. Together, with each other, Isco and Franco. Like it was going to be their last chance to be this way.


	12. I Don't Know Which Way I'm Going, I Don't Know Which Way I've Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> Thank you for being so patient with me. I'll be done soonnnn after I've submitted my thesis in the first week of April. Until then I will try to write with whatever time I have. Thank you for understanding!
> 
> Next, I told you a few chapters ago that I was preparing a playlist for these idiots. I'm done with it and [here it is on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/mandzilkos/playlist/1eyFXj6qVXAK1goeJguv5m). Again, it's not final because I may add some more, and the songs are arranged in the order that I meant them to be listened to but shuffle is fine! I mentioned that I wrote this fic heavily influenced by Bastille and Sleeping At Last (particularly Bastille) and well....you can see for yourself haha.
> 
> And lastly before I bore you to death with my boring notes, I've been holding out on y'all............[here's another photo of Isco and Franco](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CpbZpTuXEAA5lXX.jpg) :p (given what competitive little fucks they are, you can imagine how Franco reacts when he sees this photo...hehe).
> 
> Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> [Here's the instagram post mentioned in this chapter.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BHiDqnMAADE/)
> 
> Title is from Til Kingdom Come by Coldplay.

When the news came that Spain had been eliminated, Isco didn’t say anything.

He didn’t say it was time to go home. He didn’t say ‘thanks, Franco, for all your time, but I think we should go back to our lives now.’ He didn’t say anything at all. Which was fucking strange because Isco always had something to say.

So Franco had to ask him, on their second night in San Francisco, while they were walking up an empty hilly street, “When do you want to go home?”

Isco didn’t reply. He just walked, his tiny legs straining to climb the hill, his thighs bulging with every step.

“I don’t want to go home,” he finally said.

“But you have to.”

“I like it here. Maybe I’ll quit football and live a quiet life here.”

“Alarcon.”

Isco sighed, and then shrugged. “I feel bad for not watching any of Spain’s matches.”

“It’s not a rule you have to watch.”

“I feel obliged to.”

“Well, don’t.”

Isco sighed again. “Can you give me a couple of days? Maybe. Maybe until they’re all back in Spain and no one’s making any more noise. I don’t know, you can go back to Argentina from here if you want. I’ll stay here by myself. You don’t have to stay with me.”

“I’m not going back to Argentina. I’m going straight to Palermo to pack.”

“Go, then. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Hey,” Franco pulled Isco back at the top of the hill, at the cross junction of two roads. “You’re not holding me back.”

“You can leave if you want to.”

“Don’t be upset. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“It’s just,” Isco turned and sat down, facing downhill. Franco sat next to him. The city looked really nice from where they sat, all dark at night, just the occasional person on the road, not a single vehicle, just the both of them sitting all suicidal in the middle of nowhere. Night, their favourite time of day. “This summer was so great, Vazquez. I had such a good time. I don’t want it to end.”

“It has to. Alarcon, you’re a grown man. You can’t think like that.”

“I know. I know,” Isco shook his head. “Just. Yeah. Two more days, okay? Just two more days.”

“Okay,” Franco said. “Hey. If you want to, we can do it again next time.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah?’

“Yeah. Promise.”

“Thanks, Vazquez.”

“Don’t thank me.”

Silence. They sat there, at the top of the hill, just looking down at all the short buildings below them. The night was peaceful and quiet. Isco was quiet. Franco was quiet. But not even because they’d exhausted everything they had to say to each other over the last twenty days. Just because. Because they finally felt comfortable enough with each other to sit in silence instead of having to find something to talk about.

Franco noticed Isco take out his phone and play with it for a while. Franco ignored it. He watched the city go to sleep. He liked doing that, especially since San Francisco was like a cross between a city and a town. Just like Isco had said, nights made them feel lonely but nights in places like this, knowing that somewhere out there, there was someone still awake – it made them just that much less lonely.

And having Isco sit right there next to Franco made Franco, well. Not lonely at all.

“Thanks for doing weird stuff with me like going out in the middle of the night,” Franco said.

Isco smiled. He put his phone back in his pocket. “Check your phone.”

Franco did. Just one notification from Instagram: _iscoalarcon tagged you in a photo_.

It was a selfie they’d taken at Red Rock. One of the more failed ones, with Isco making a silly face at the camera and Franco turning to stare judgmentally at him with his eyebrows furrowed. But the photo wasn’t shaky and the rocks were still in full glory behind them. It was captioned, _party in the usa,_ followed by the little emoji wearing sunglasses.

It was practically the visual embodiment of their friendship, from start to present. It made Franco laugh. “Very thoughtful caption,” he said.

“Uh,” Isco said. “Wait. Do you want me to tag you? Or, like, should I remove the tag?”

“Nah, it’ll be okay, I guess.”

“It was the best party of my life, Vazquez. Both Dubai and here.”

“Me, too,” Franco smiled. He’d honestly never had such a nice holiday with a friend. In fact, he always found it way too quiet with most of his friends because they didn’t really know how to fill the silences except when they really had something that they needed help with. “But now you can go home and sleep in your nice bed and see Junior again.”

“Yeah,” Isco laughed. “Man, I miss my son.”

“I’d have smacked you on the head if you hadn’t said that.”

“I’ll take him to see you once you're all settled in at Seville.”

And Franco liked the idea of that, so he agreed. And then Isco launched into a whole lecture about all the different preschools in Málaga and Madrid and how there were better ones in Madrid but that would mean that Junior had to stay in Madrid all the time and some of Isco’s family had to go over to help out, and it was all so mundane honestly but Franco really enjoyed hearing about it. And giving his suggestions, like maybe chill a little because Junior wasn't even two years old and preschool was some time away, and besides Isco was some superstar and Junior could probably get into any fucking place he wanted. Franco liked it especially much when he suggested that Isco leave Junior with Franco permanently so Isco could bring girls back to his place to hook up, and Isco turned and glared at him so hard Franco was worried his eyeballs would pop out and roll down the hill all the way to the coast.

And then they walked backwards down the slopes – “So it won't hurt your knees,” Isco said – back to the bottom where their hotel was, and Franco almost fell a few times and Isco did nothing but stand there and laugh his fucking head off. So Franco just took Isco’s hand and didn't let go of it so if he fell, Isco would fall too.

They got back to their hotel room safely and made out a little bit before fucking in the shower. Isco spent extra time doing weird stuff to his beard, so Franco got into bed first.

He got a text from his agent, asking, _You spent summer with a Madrid player?_

He replied, _Yeah, is that going to be a problem?_ and he’d just wanted to ask politely but it turned out all passive aggressive.

Anyway, his agent replied a couple of seconds later, _Not at all, just want to know for sure in case they ask,_ and Franco was relieved.

Right before they went to sleep, back to back again, Franco facing the window and Isco facing the door, Isco suddenly said, “Vazquez.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember we talked about the hundred Iscos in the other universes who were playing at the Euros?”

“Mmhmm.”

“They missed out on the best party of their lives.”

Isco fell asleep with a smile on his face – Franco knew because he peeked – and so Franco was able to do the same.

\------

They took a flight back to London from San Francisco, Isco as part of his flight to Madrid and Franco intentionally getting himself a seat on the flight so he could fly with Isco instead of the both of them taking the trans-Atlantic journey alone. He bought another separate flight back to Palermo.

Isco claimed his mile high club status with the blowjob he claimed that Franco owed him, although Franco hadn’t made any promises in the first place. But Franco was totally up for it. They waited until midnight and the lights were all turned off and everyone around them was sleeping. Franco lay in Isco’s lap for a few moments after zipping Isco up, half his body all twisted on the floor and the space in front of his seat, trying to catch his breath.

“Did you book that seat in secret so we could have this row to ourselves?” Franco whispered, pointing at the empty aisle seat next to Isco.

“No,” Isco rolled his eyes. “This plane is fucking empty.”

And well, it was, so Franco didn’t respond. He got back on his seat and looked out the window at the moon in the distance. Isco opened the blanket and snuggled up comfortably under it, only his head sticking out of it. He turned to Franco to bid good night, but when Franco didn’t respond, proceeded to lean his head on Franco’s shoulder even though it meant his body twisted over the armrest. And then he _fell asleep_.

It was Franco’s turn to roll his eyes. He pushed Isco aside by his head and pushed the armrest back so Isco could lean properly on him.

He spent a few hours just looking at the moon and stars and clouds, but eventually fell asleep under his own blanket, cheek leaned against the top of Isco’s head.

\------

Isco woke up while they were just entering England to Franco trying to gently place his head on his seat instead on Franco’s shoulder. He didn’t know Isco had awoken. He just sat there in his seat, blinking a few times like he had been asleep. He stared out the window for a while. Then he retreated right to the very corner of his seat, wedged between the airplane wall and the back of his seat. He stared at Isco.

“I’m awake, you know,” Isco said, making him jump.

He didn’t say a word still, though, just stared at Isco some more before turning to look out the window again. He tugged his blanket more tightly around himself and sat a little forward in his seat, trying to look at the land below.

“Hey,” Isco said, shimmying over and leaning his head on Franco’s shoulder. “C’mon. You only have a couple more hours to bother me.”

Franco jabbed his finger at the window so Isco would lift his butt off his seat to see what he was pointing at. “It’s like Google maps, but real,” Franco said.

Isco laughed. “Yeah.”

“I slept again,” Franco said as Isco settled back in his own seat. He turned and stared at Isco. Didn’t say another word, just stared.

Isco smiled. “And?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Alarcon.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

Franco went quiet again, just stared out the window for the next fifteen minutes until they landed. When it was time to alight he got up, checked his pockets to make sure everything was there, and shooed Isco out into the aisle so they could get out of the plane quickly. Isco waited in the transit area as Franco got his bag and then checked it in again for his evening flight to Palermo.

They grabbed a quick, _very quiet_ lunch together, at the emptiest fast food place they could find. Franco just ate quietly, jabbing his plastic fork at the piece of fish on his plate, using one hand to eat instead of two.

“Vazquez,” Isco said. He was already _done with his food_. And Franco was like, two bites through. “You can’t close back up on me on our very last day.”

“I’m not,” Franco said softly. He jabbed a few more holes in his fish before just poking his whole fork in it and lifting it in the air. “Do you think you can fit this entire thing in your mouth?”

Isco laughed. The piece of fish was like, half the size of Franco’s hand. Probably a little smaller than Isco’s hand. “I bet I can.”

“If I stuff the entire thing in your mouth, do you think you’ll shut up?”

“Deal.”

Franco reached over the table and tried stuffing the entire piece of fish into Isco’s mouth, but the crumbs kept falling everywhere and Franco was so _determined_ to do it he looked all serious and eager and he bit his bottom lip in concentration and it made Isco laugh, which in turn made him start to choke when the fish was halfway in his mouth. He quickly bit it off so he wouldn’t ruin all of Franco’s food.

“You failed,” Franco said, dumping the remainder of the fish back on his plate.

“I’m human,” Isco replied. “Also, I just helped you eat an entire chunk so you should eat more quickly now. My flight’s in an hour.”

“You’re not going to be late for your flight, drama queen.”

“Well, you didn’t manage to stuff it in my mouth so you don’t get to make me shut up.”

“Fuck you.”

Franco cut his fish into three smaller pieces and popped them into his mouth one after another, followed by the five or so fries he had left. He stood up and started walking, saying something that sounded like ‘come on’ but which Isco couldn’t make out because Franco’s mouth was _stuffed_.

They walked all the way to the end of the terminal and then back to where Isco’s gate was. They talked about. About nothing. Literally just random things. But it made Isco feel comfortable. It didn’t feel forced at all, Franco didn’t look like he was being made to talk. He just. Just talked. It was very reassuring.

Isco asked him what his favourite planet was. Franco said it was Neptune. He said it was cold and quiet and inconspicuous and no layman ever cared too much about it, but that was exactly why he liked it. He asked Isco what Isco’s favourite was. Isco said Uranus because it sounded like ‘your anus,’ and Franco wasn’t even surprised, just gave a little knowing laugh.

“At least we’re neighbours, then,” he said.

“And we’re both cold. We’re both _cool_.”

“Just because I called you cool that _one time_.”

“I’m cool. Don’t deny it.”

Franco sighed and agreed, because he knew Isco wouldn’t let it go. Then he launched into a whole lecture about how Uranus was tipped on its side like it’d fallen over, and how Neptune and Uranus were weird because they had awkward magnetic fields or whatever. It was pretty interesting, but. But it didn’t stay very long in Isco’s head. Only when Franco said, “Maybe we’re really those planets. We’re both equally weird,” did Isco actually decide to remember that, because it was nice.

They stood outside Isco’s gate until it opened. Franco turned to Isco and gave both his shoulders a squeeze. “See you around, Alarcon.”

“Don’t I get a goodbye kiss or something?”

“Not here,” Franco said. “This is London. Everyone knows us. You get an extra special one the next time.”

“Do I get a hug?”

Franco smiled thoughtfully. “I’ve never hugged you before,” he said.

“You did, once,” Isco said.

Franco’s smile grew. “The first night we met, when we’d finished fucking and you called me mean.”

“Yeah,” Isco grinned. “You said, ‘have a hug from good old Franco.’”

Franco stretched his arms out. “So you want a hug from good old Franco now?”

Isco walked right into them and felt his breath being snatched away from him when they wrapped themselves tightly around Isco like two huge anacondas. He wrapped his own arms around Franco’s waist and squeezed tightly, listening to the little happy half-murmur, half-sigh Franco gave against the side of his head. His head fit exactly into the crook of Franco’s neck, cheek resting on Franco’s collar bone. He nuzzled his face into the fabric of Franco’s white t-shirt. He was going to miss this scent. Waking up to this scent every morning. Having the bathroom smell of this. Secretly pressing his face into the pillow next to his and taking in every molecule of this when Franco was busy doing something else.

Tears pricked the back of Isco’s eyes. They didn’t make it to the surface before Isco blinked them away.

“Thank you so much, Franco,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Franco whispered back. His hand played with the hair at the nape of Isco’s neck for a while before he pulled away. “Say hi to Junior for me.”

“Okay,” Isco smiled. “Bye, Vazquez. Call me when you’re in Seville.”

“I will.”

“Take care.”

Franco smiled. “You too.”

“And thank you.”

Franco reached over and ruffled Isco’s hair. “Of course,” he mouthed.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Isco walked hesitantly inside, turning back every couple of seconds to see Franco still standing there and watching him. He had like, three whole hours to wait, anyway. Franco was smiling at him. His smile grew bigger each time Isco turned around until it burst into a grin.

“Clingy fucker,” he mouthed at Isco. Isco gave him a discreet middle finger at his hip, way below eye level. It made Franco burst into laughter.

That was the last image Isco had of Franco before he boarded the plane back home. A smiling, laughing Franco. Isco kept it safe in his head.

\------

Franco got all his stuff moved to Seville in about a week. His brothers had helped him looked at apartments online while he was in the US, because after all they knew him the best. He approved the apartment based on the photos they’d sent. It was bright and spacious and all its walls were white, which was exactly what Franco had been looking for. He sent all his stuff over to the address and flew over to meet his brothers, who were already there.

“So, Fede told me you spent the summer with a Madrid player?” Nicolas asked once Franco stepped into the house. He was sitting on the couch that had come with the apartment and cradling Fausto sloppily.

“Why the hell does everyone keep asking me that?” Franco asked.

“He posted a photo with you on _Instagram_ ,” Federico pointed out. “That’s like, a ‘look at my boyfriend’ announcement.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So why’d you spend the summer with him?”

“Who else am I going to spend the summer with? You guys?”

“Rude,” Federico said. “Answer the question.”

“He got dropped from the Euro squad. I thought he’d need company. So I offered. I already told you this.”

“So, boyfriends.”

Franco rolled his eyes. He picked up one of the boxes labeled ‘clothes’ and carried it into the room because his brothers were useless and he wasn’t even sure why he’d called them over. “Just shut the hell up,” he said.

“Is he mad? He’s mad,” he heard Federico say.

“I am,” Franco called.

“Okay, okay,” Federico’s voice got louder as he walked into the room. “He’s not your boyfriend.”

“He’s not.”

“Do you want him to be?”

“No. I’m not looking for one. I don’t want one.”

“Okay,” Federico said, surprisingly accommodating. He took out a bunch of clothes and started passing them one by one to Franco so he could hang them up. They worked silently for a while before Federico asked again, “So you don’t like him that way?”

“What the fuck,” Franco said.

“Just answer me and I’ll shut up.”

“I don’t,” Franco said. Even though. Even though he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure how liking someone felt like, if he truly _did_ like Isco, because he’d _never liked anyone before._ All he knew was, at the very least, he cared about Isco as a friend. And to him, that was all that mattered right then.

“Okay, change of topic,” Federico said. “Do you think you’re here a little early?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t even signed your contract.”

“I'm going to, though. In around a week.”

Federico went silent, and Franco turned to him and saw him trying his best not to say whatever it was he wanted to. Franco glared at him for a few moments, and he caved. “Is it ‘cause you wanna see Isco?” he blurted.

Franco threw his arms in the air in defeat. All he’d wanted to do, honestly, purely from deep down in his heart – was to be _prepared_. Franco liked everything in order. He liked everything being in place so he knew what he still had to do. His brothers _knew that_. They just found great joy in teasing Franco endlessly.

Franco went back outside and sat on the couch next to Nicolas. At least his eldest brother didn’t tease him as much. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through Instagram, in the process finding out that Isco had posted a video of Junior the previous night, kicking a ball indoors.

Instinct made him open his text conversation with Isco and send, _My brothers can’t stop talking about you_.

He briefly regretted it and wished he could’ve unsent it, but to his surprise, he got a reply about five seconds later. _Really? What are they saying?_

_About me spending summer with you._

_Are they jealous?_

_That’s what I think too._

_Haha. Are you in Seville or Argentina?_

_Seville._

_They’re there?_

_Yeah._

_Your nephew there too?_

_Yeah._

_Can I go meet them?_

_Like, now?_

_I’m in Málaga. I have a couple days off. It’s a two hour car ride. I’ll be there in the evening._

_Will you bring Junior?_

_Of course. Playdate time. I’ll take Antonio too._

Franco texted him the address and received a thumbs up. “Since you like Isco so much, he’s coming over to see you,” he announced when Federico came out of the room.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Federico said.

“Is he bringing his kid?” Nicolas asked.

“Yeah. He said he’ll be here in the evening.”

So they sat around and waited and for some reason Franco was really nervous. He tried to keep himself busy for a while unpacking stuff but eventually managed to distract himself by cooking for all seven people who were going to be there. What had he been thinking? His place wasn’t even fully furnished. His boxes weren’t even unpacked. And fucking Isco Alarcon was driving two hours over here and Franco had nowhere for him to stay.

 _I have nowhere for you to stay,_ he texted Isco while the pasta water was boiling.

_Don’t worry about it, Vazquez._

_Don’t text while you’re driving._

_Antonio is driving._

_Lazy fuck._

_Idk what you want from me._

And Franco didn’t know either, so he dumped his phone aside.

Isco and company finally arrived at half-past four in the evening, Antonio giving two loud honks as he pulled up outside. Franco opened the door, relieved that the waiting was over, only to have them all bundle in automatically – Junior walking with the help of a bent-over Isco – mumbling hellos to Franco. They got to the living room where Franco made all the introductions. Isco and Nicolas immediately launched into some dad conversation, and Federico asked Antonio about living in Spain which got them all started off as well, so Franco scooped Junior and Fausto up in his arms and sat with them on the ground and tried to introduce them to each other but neither of them seemed to understand him.

Franco got Fausto’s and Junior’s bags from near the door and found some soft toys and little cars inside. He brought them back to Fausto and Junior, and Junior started yelling ‘Vazquez’ again, like it was his way of saying thank you. He crawled nearer to Fausto and just started fussing over Fausto’s hands.

“I guess you could call him Vazquez, too,” Franco said to no one in particular, starting to laugh softly. He picked the both of them up and put them on his lap, one on each thigh. They both smelled like. Like babies. Diapers and poop and milk. It was a strangely comforting scent.

He ended up sprawled chest-down on the ground, poking his head into Fausto and Junior’s little babbling conversation. Fausto was a little older and stronger, so he managed to pull toys out of Junior’s grasp more easily. Franco shoved another toy into Junior’s hands each time, before he could start fussing again.

He didn’t realise it was dinnertime until the room suddenly became quiet. He stood up with both babies in his arms and wandered into the kitchen, where everyone was. They were gathered around the huge pot of warm pasta and discussing about going outside to the communal backyard to have dinner. Franco just stood there at the door, juggling the two kids on his hips, until they made up their mind and carried the pot outside.

Franco wasn’t even hungry. With the two babies in his arms he was practically already in heaven. He just sat in one of the lawn chairs with Fausto and Junior and watched them play again, this time not even with toys but with each other’s hands. And shirts. And pants. And basically just whatever.

Isco finally came over to him with two little jars of baby food. “You’re not a very good host,” he said, passing one of the jars to Franco. “Can I help you with one of those?”

Franco passed Fausto to him. Isco twisted the jar open, dipped a tiny spoon into it, and started feeding Fausto, stopping every mouthful to wipe Fausto’s mouth.

“Have you eaten?” Franco asked.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence for a while. Well, the silence just belonged mostly to Franco. Junior was babbling to himself something about the colour yellow while Franco tried to feed him. Isco was teaching Fausto how to say ‘Isco.’ It was easy and Fausto was almost three, so he got it in no time. He kept calling it out, though, which made Isco happy and Franco a little annoyed.

“Great, now you’ve made him as annoying as you,” he said.

“Rude.”

“How was your journey here?”

“It was good. Antonio’s a good driver.”

“Like me.”

“Not like you.”

“Like me. Admit it.”

“Pfft,” Isco said, leading Fausto to try and imitate him. Isco waited for him to succeed, and then gave him a little peck on the head as a reward. “So when are you signing your contract?”

“Saturday. Then they’re going to present me the following week.”

“So you aren’t going on all the preseason stuff?”

“Not so early.”

“Oh,” Isco said. “Well. I’m sorry I can’t be here. I’m leaving for Montreal.”

“Why would I want you here? It’s weird. We have no connection.”

“Ouch,” Isco laughed. “I don’t know. I just thought. Yeah.”

“It’s okay,” Franco punched him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s just, I don’t know. People think it’s weird. Like. My brothers think we’re a couple.”

“Seriously?” Isco asked softly. He shifted his gaze back to Fausto, taking his tiny hands and jiggling them around. “Why do they think that?”

“They think your Instagram photo was a boyfriend announcement.”

Isco went quiet for a while, then, “Do you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“Me posting photos of us.”

“Nah, I don’t,” Franco said. Because he honestly didn’t. Sure, he liked keeping to himself most of the time. But Isco was a friend and there was nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with wanting to post about himself and his life on social media. Some people were like that. Take Alvaro and Paulo for example. “Are you going to post anymore?”

“I was thinking maybe, yeah, after you’re presented.”

“Okay.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“I really don’t mind. It doesn’t…it doesn’t mean what they think it means,” Franco paused, his heart suddenly falling at the thought. He hated it. He hated that his subconscious was telling him everything he didn’t want to hear. Everything he was too scared to hear. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isco said softly. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, nice place.”

“Thanks,” Franco smiled. “Where are you staying tonight?”

“We’ll get a room at the nearest hotel, I guess. Where are your brothers staying? In the guest room?”

“There’s only one bed, in my room. They’re staying in a hotel, too. You could join them.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “Cool.”

Silence for a while.

“So are they getting along?” Isco asked, gesturing to Junior and Fausto, who seemed to be gravitating towards each other, off Franco and Isco’s laps and back onto the lawn chair. “Okay, never mind, I can see they are.”

Franco laughed. “You getting along with Nico and Fede?”

“Yeah, they’re cool.”

“They’re as annoying as you.”

“Shut the fish up.”

Franco laughed again. He suddenly had this. This really strong urge to lean over and kiss Isco. The sun was hanging low in the sky and casting an orange hue over everyone, bringing out the brown in Isco’s dark hair. It was growing out, too, and sitting all puffy on his head. It flopped over his forehead once in a while when he bent over to fuss over Fausto. Franco wanted to put his hand in it and comb it back on Isco’s head. He wanted to plant little kisses along Isco’s hairline.

He was startled when Isco suddenly shoved him in the shoulder. “What the fish you dreaming about?”

“What?” Franco asked.

“I’m talking to you. I asked if you’ve been around the neighborhood.”

“Oh,” Franco said. “No. I just came this morning.”

“We should all go take a walk or something,” Isco mused. “Antonio can bring us around. His work takes him here sometimes.”

So they all did, with Antonio as their tour guide. They took a short walk into the city center and then went in a circle back out to the hotel Nicolas and Federico were staying in. They saw diners, cathedrals, palaces, and the city hall; some from afar and some up close. They saw trams and paid a visit to one of the metro stations. It was a whole lot to do in just three or four hours. But thankfully Isco didn't hold a giant map and walk around again, just walked silently by Franco’s side holding Fausto’s hand while Franco carried Junior. And they didn't attract much attention, because they were sort of hidden behind their brothers.

They got to the hotel at half past nine and Junior was already asleep on Franco’s shoulder while Fausto was whining and tugging on Isco’s arm wanting to go to bed. Franco helped Isco and Antonio check into a room – he had no idea _why,_ actually, because _they_ were the Spanish natives anyway – and walked them to the lifts.

“Don't take the wrong kid back,” Franco said, passing Junior back to Isco and taking Fausto’s hand, giving him a good night kiss before passing him back to Nicolas.

“I don't mind. He's a good kid.”

“Don't let Junior hear you say that.”

Isco laughed. “You’ll be okay on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll call a taxi.”

“Night, Franco.”

“Night, Alarcon,” Franco said. Everyone else was just standing there in a circle and taking turns to stare at them and whisper into the circle about their findings and thoughts. Franco rolled his eyes at them. “Good night, you guys.”

He left after kissing Junior good night. He got home and heated up some of the leftover pasta because he realised he hadn't had dinner. Then he cleaned everything up and did a little more unpacking before showering and preparing for bed. It was already half past eleven when he got under his covers.

And then the doorbell rang.

Franco got out of bed hesitantly – because after all it was his first night in Seville and it was almost midnight – and got to the door.

Through the peephole he saw Isco standing on the other side, wearing a sports jacket and long jeans despite the humid Spanish summer night. Franco opened the door.

The both of them just stood there silently for a while, either side of the doorframe, just staring at each other. Not even a single word was uttered. Not even a ‘hey’ or a ‘hi.’ Just silence, Isco’s eyes searching Franco’s face like how Franco’s were searching Isco’s.

Then at the same time, at the _exact same moment,_ they took a step towards each other, Franco towards his stoop and Isco towards the inside of Franco’s apartment. They met under the doorway, lips and bodies crashing against each other gracefully, arms automatically knowing where to snake, hands automatically knowing where to caress. Franco’s hands went to Isco’s shoulders, shoving him gently against the door to shut it before wrapping his arms around Isco’s waist to pull him closer. Isco’s hands went straight into Franco’s hair, blunt nails gently scraping his scalp as he tugged. Franco felt all the breath being knocked out of Isco, _right into Franco’s mouth_ , mingling with Franco’s as their lips worked around each other. It felt so familiar, but not in an unsettling way, just. Just so comfortable.

Isco pulled away for a bit to unzip his jacket and wriggle out of it, dumping it on the ground. He was wearing a black t-shirt underneath, and when Franco pressed his face to Isco’s neck he felt a blast of mint eucalyptus scent flood his nose, which told him two things: one, that Isco had ‘borrowed’ Franco’s body wash again, and two, that Isco was telling Franco, ‘I’m clean under these clothes.’ They didn’t even need to speak. Neither of them needed to even say _one_ word. Their bodies were all they needed.

Franco helped him unzip his jeans, finding out that he was wearing a pair of his sleeping boxers underneath them – and realizing that Isco had put on so many fucking clothes because he wanted to keep his pajamas clean, that fucking little minx. Franco smiled when the discovery got to him, feeling Isco reflect the smile right back against his lips.

Once Isco’s feet were out of his jeans, Franco grabbed his thighs and wrapped them around his waist. He made his way blindly to the bedroom with Isco trying to choke him with his tongue. He dumped Isco on the bed and crawled over him because in that instant, Franco knew he didn’t even _care._ He didn’t give a flying _fuck_ about whether Isco was fucking clean or whether he’d stepped into a fucking coal mine on the way here. He just _wanted Isco_.

He gently tugged Isco’s shirt off over his head, pausing to watch Isco’s hair flop back. He let Isco do the same, hands teasingly running over Franco’s abdomen up his ribs, up his shoulders, and over his head, fingers burying themselves in Franco’s hair once his shirt was off. Franco reached downwards and found Isco’s dick over his trousers, curling his fingers around it.

Isco gave a little moan, the first sound either of them had made since Franco opened the door. He slid his hands into the sides of Franco’s waistband, tugging and pushing until Franco’s shorts were at his hips, which were the furthest they could go. Franco got up and got out of them as Isco did the same for himself, the both of them finishing at the same time and moving synchronously again to grab the other, meeting in the middle. They shoved each other around for a while before Franco won the silent battle when he grabbed both their dicks in one hand and started to frot them against each other.

He shoved Isco backwards on the pillows, briefly meeting his lips before running his tongue down Isco’s beard, down his chin, his neck, the little gap between his clavicles, and to his sternum. He traced a line of kisses down Isco’s abdomen, lingering on his happy trail. He took Isco’s semi in his mouth and gave it one hard suck, smiling when Isco’s hips jerked upwards.

After grabbing one of the pillows and placing it under Isco’s back, Franco lowered his lips over Isco’s dick again, blowing him until he was hard and leaking precome and his hand was violently tugging Franco’s hair around. Franco moved his mouth to Isco’s balls, and then to his hole, briefly lingering at the entrance before spitting into it and using his tongue to swirl the spit around. He used his hands to push back on Isco’s thighs, giving himself easier access – only to have Isco grab hold of one of his hands, little fingers curling around it tightly, palm sweaty and warm but a strangely comfortable weight on Franco’s hand.

When Isco was hard and practically a writhing mess, Franco got up again. He licked his lips and saw Isco observe him through hazy, half-opened eyes, before reaching up with his hands and wiggling his fingers so Franco would go closer.

And Franco did. He crawled up Isco’s abdomen and sat on his chest, feeling it heave up and down with Isco’s loud, deep breaths. He nudged Isco’s lips open with the tip of his dick and, when Isco welcomed it, slowly slid his length into Isco’s mouth. Isco swirled his tongue around it, letting his spit pool before using his tongue again to spread it all over Franco’s dick when Franco pulled out.

But Franco didn’t need much. He _never did,_ especially not with Isco. That guy had like, magic hands and a magic mouth, or something. Just _being around him_. Anyway, Franco found himself completely hard in just a couple of minutes, leaning over Isco’s head and on the wall behind the bed, mouth open in a silent gasp. He threaded his hands in Isco’s hair, soothing his six-hour long temptation to do it. He did it over and over and over again until everything was wet and sweaty, he did it as he gently thrusted into Isco’s mouth, until he was so fucking wet the mixture of his precome and Isco’s spit started dribbling out the side of Isco's mouth.

And fuck, Franco had literally arrived less than twenty-four hours ago and he hadn’t even unpacked eighty percent of his stuff yet, much less his condoms. They must’ve been buried somewhere in a random box. But Franco opened his bedside drawer and took out his wallet – which was literally the only thing in it – and found a condom inside. Fortunately, too, because if there hadn’t been one, Franco would have legitimately combusted.

He knelt between Isco’s knees to roll the condom over himself. He spat on his fingers and gently slid them into Isco’s open hole, briefly glancing at Isco to make sure he was okay. Isco just nodded.

Franco leaned over Isco and pressed his lips gently on Isco’s, hoping to mute the pain as he pressed himself on Isco’s entrance before slowly pushing himself all the way in. Isco’s rough breaths slowly turned regular as Franco kissed them out of him, so Franco started thrusting. Gently at first, and then harder, until he could hear the sound of their wet skin slapping against each other.

Isco’s hands wandered all over Franco’s body, and Franco let them. He knew Isco liked being touchy. He liked running his gentle fingertips along Franco’s bulging veins. He liked to place his palms on Franco’s abdomen and look at how big and lean it was in contrast to his stubby fingers. He liked to nibble on Franco’s lower lip. He liked to run his fingers through Franco’s hair. He liked to french the fuck out of Franco; Franco could literally just come by having Isco french him for fifteen minutes.

So Franco let him do all of that.

He grabbed Isco’s thighs and wrapped them around his waist. He took Isco’s stupid little face in his hands and kissed the fuck out of him as Isco ran his hands wherever the fuck he liked. They wandered all over Franco’s body, making Franco shudder for some inexplicable reason. His arms eventually hooked themselves under Franco’s, pulling him close in a tight hug. He placed his chin on Franco’s shoulder and just. Just hugged Franco close to him, his hips shifting upwards to meet Franco’s, adjusting his position so Franco would hit his prostate.

And Franco did, moments later, adjusting his own position. He _nailed it_ , evident by Isco suddenly gasping and arching his back upwards, eyes closed and jaw dropping open in ecstasy. God, he was so fucking dramatic, honestly. But Franco loved it. He fucking loved it. He moved his hips more roughly, nibbling a hickey into Isco’s neck as he pumped into Isco. Harder and harder, until Isco’s hips began to stutter back downwards and he grabbed one of Franco’s hands and put it on his dick, inviting Franco to jerk him off.

But that didn’t quite work out, because all it took for Isco to come was Franco wrapping his fingers around Isco’s length. He didn’t even move. Not yet. Just wrapped his fingers around, and Isco fucking _came_. He came all over Franco’s fingers and his own v-line, and fuck, it was so fucking hot. Franco shoved his tongue into Isco’s mouth, devouring all of Isco’s little sounds like Franco was a ravenous beast, deprived of food for a week. He moved his hips quicker, half to force every drop of come out of Isco and half just because Franco himself was so fucking close.

He was so close that he couldn’t take it any longer, just. Just pulled out of Isco and practically ripped the condom off before aligning his dick against Isco’s, rubbing their lengths together in the circle his fingers made, his hips working hard to provide the both of them with the friction they desperately needed.

Isco sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows, feverishly watching everything literally unravel. Watched the remainder of his come spill on his abdomen and Franco’s come joining soon after as Franco’s hips buckled. He wrapped his tiny hand around Franco’s – well, around half of Franco’s – and moved it aside so he could help jerk Franco off. Franco let him. He squeezed the last drop of come out of Isco before sitting back, letting Isco do the rest of the work.

But Isco didn’t do just that. He didn’t just jerk Franco off. He got on his knees and ran his tongue up the underside of Franco’s dick, letting all the come land in his mouth and closing his lips around Franco’s tip to make sure he got everything. He licked his lips and swallowed before going for another round. And another. Until Franco was practically _dry_.

And Franco was just. His vision was tinged with red and Franco legitimately thought he was going to pass out. He grabbed a handful of Isco’s hair, not tugging nor pushing, just. Just wanting to hold him. Any part of him. It was just. Just fucking _mind-blowing_. Franco had never had such great sex in his entire life. He rode out his orgasm into Isco’s mouth because Isco wouldn’t stop until Franco was done.

He eventually was, after all the licking and sucking and tugging by Isco. They both sat there, not daring to make eye contact, just. Just sat there all sweaty and breathing loudly, Franco’s hand still covered with come and Isco’s – well, Isco’s beard decorated with speckles of come, too.

Franco reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed his t-shirt from the floor. He used it to wipe his own hand and then Isco’s beard, gently tugging to remove all the remnants. Isco just watched him fondly, daring to put a hand on Franco’s to guide him.

The shirt was thrown aside again after they were done. Isco was the first to make eye contact, his dark, dilated, eager brown eyes chasing Franco’s until they met. A tiny, wary staring contest began, and then quickly ended when Isco’s lips twitched upwards in a smile.

Franco couldn’t help it. He just leaned over, cupped Isco’s chin with his hand, and kissed Isco again. He knew, he _knew_ that they never did this, never participated in any post-sex affection. It was like some unspoken rule between the both of them, but. But for some reason, Franco couldn’t help himself.

Isco grabbed a handful of Franco’s hair on the back of his head, gently fluffing it up as Franco distracted himself with Isco’s tongue. He pulled Franco on top of him as he lay back down, his lips still upturned, smiling into the kiss. And then he pulled Franco away, kindly and gently.

“So…” he started, the first word either of them had uttered to each other since meeting at the door an entire forty minutes ago. “Hi.”

Franco smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Hey, Francisco.”

Isco’s smile grew. It felt comfortable, somehow. It felt comfortable for Franco to just be there, hovering over Isco. Being so close to him.

“I think I was suffering from withdrawal symptoms,” Franco whispered.

“Yeah?” Isco chuckled, his sweaty abdomen rubbing against Franco’s. “Yeah. Me, too.”

It wasn’t that hard to admit, even for the both of them. More than three weeks spent together, literally having sex whenever they’d felt like it, followed immediately by one week of not seeing each other – it wasn’t so difficult to admit they missed each other’s dicks.

“You miss my dick,” Franco pointed out anyway, smugly.

“Shut the fuck up. You miss my dick too.”

 _No, I miss you_ , was the first thing that popped into Franco’s head, startling him. He quickly climbed off Isco and lay next to him, the both of them staring up at the ceiling silently for a few minutes.

“Way to christen your new bed, huh?” Isco finally said.

Franco laughed. “Uh-huh. Be honoured you were part of this process, Alarcon.”

“It’s a pretty comfortable bed. I’m satisfied.”

“I can’t believe you came all the way back just to fuck me.”

“Shut the fuck up. Smug bastard.”

“Does Antonio know you’re here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.”

Franco smiled. This guy knew how to live. “Hey,” he said. “So, um. Thanks for coming to Seville.”

“Yeah,” Isco smiled at the ceiling. “Just, you know, thought it’d be nice to meet everybody. And Fausto.”

“He’s a good kid, huh?”

“Yeah,” Isco said. “Tiny and adorable and handsome and smart.”

“Runs in the genes.”

“Fuck off.”

Franco laughed. Silence for a couple of moments, then, “So, you going back across the Atlantic?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Will you be lonely on the plane without me?”

“Nah, I’ll just think of the blowjob you gave me.”

“Maybe you can get Alvaro to give you one.”

“What the fuck!” Isco shoved him in the shoulder. “That’s fucking gross.”

“You made out with him once, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t _make out_ with him. I _kissed_ him. And it wasn’t even anything, just. It was just a kiss.”

“That’s how everything starts. That’s how _we_ started.”

“No, we started because I love pissing you off.”

“Yeah?” Franco grinned. It somehow comforted him that he and Isco liked the same things and wanted the same things from each other. “Well, same.”

“We’re going to shave like, three years off our lives each time we fight.”

“That doesn’t work. Then we’d be like, negative five hundred years old. See? We’re fighting again. That’s another three years. Now we’re negative five hundred and three.”

“Fuck off, five hundred isn’t even a multiple of three. You have to subtract it off our age, too. 527 and 524. They aren’t even multiples of three.”

“Nerd.”

“Also, I’m younger. I’m three negative years younger than you,” Isco said. “God, fuck, that’s too many negatives in one sentence. My head hurts.”

“I’m not sure being negative younger years old is a good thing.”

“It is. You’re just jealous because you’re still old.”

Franco shoved him back in the shoulder as he laughed, self-proclaiming the winner. They lay there in silence for a while again, just catching their breaths. Not from their orgasms, but from their argument. Franco missed that. He missed having someone who was on his level of fucking sarcasm. Someone to challenge him.

It took him only a few seconds to realise that he didn’t just miss _that_. He missed _Isco,_ specifically.

Franco sighed, leading Isco to turn his head and stare at him. Franco shook his head at him, and Isco left it.

“Maybe when we fuck we earn like, one year,” Isco suggested instead. “Then the math will work out, maybe.”

“You’re still on that? You wanna work out the ratio of fucking to fighting and see if it fits?”

Isco went quiet for a long, long while. Then he said, “Oh. Wait. Vazquez. I just realised if we’re negative years old, then we’d be super young. Like, we aren’t even born yet. So we aren’t negative five hundred. We’re _five hundred._ ”

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Franco rolled his eyes so hard they actually hurt. “You’re a fucking _nerd_.”

“You’re the one who’s obsessed with putting everything in order. I’m just helping you,” Isco retorted, punctuated with a ‘pfft.’ And well, Franco couldn’t deny that even if he tried. But before he could respond, Isco turned on his side, away from Franco. “Well. Time for bed.”

Franco just lay there for a while. He couldn’t sleep. Which was weird, because Franco normally fell straight into a coma after getting his orgasm. He stared at the back of Isco’s head for a while before gently placing his hand on Isco’s shoulder.

“Is this the last time?” he asked when Isco turned his head around.

Isco stared at him. He blinked a few times. He moved his gaze over every inch of Franco’s face. And then he said quietly, with the straightest face and the softest, kindest expression Franco had ever seen from him, “No, ‘course not.”

Franco felt his heart sink, but not in disappointment. In the strongest, most overwhelming blast of relief Franco had ever felt. It was a nice, comfortable settling of his heart back in its place. It was gratitude that Isco had tried and was still trying to understand and relate to him. It was a strange, warm feeling. But Franco had no answers for that. He suddenly had no answers for _anything_. His life was fucking tearing apart at the seams and Franco didn’t know how nor why, just that Isco definitely had a part to play in it. He had no idea what Isco was doing, how he was doing it, or what kind of fucking _spell_ he put Franco under; just that _it was all his fault._

Isco turned his back again and closed his eyes, swiftly falling asleep.

Franco sat up in bed and watched him sleep, wondering what exactly was fucking wrong with himself.


	13. Your Hands Protect The Flames From The Wild Winds Around You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge chunk of reference to [chapter 45 of AEIB.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7722889/chapters/21356045)
> 
> And [here's the instagram post mentioned in this chapter.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BINYaOMB0ir/)
> 
> Title is from Icarus by Bastille.

The following week, Franco went to Sevilla’s training ground for his medical. Three days later, he went down to finally read the complete contract and sign it in private. And then he was suddenly a Sevilla player. Complete with an official announcement on the club website.

He was very pleasantly surprised when Isco texted him on the night he signed his contract, saying, _Welcome to Spain, officially._

 _Thanks,_ Franco sent back. _You remembered :)_

_Of course I remember._

Franco put his phone aside, wanting to go to sleep. He turned off his bedside lights and crawled under his sheets. He lay there for a while in the dark, staring at the little patch of yellowish light through his curtains from the streetlight outside.

He turned and picked up his phone again.

 _When are you leaving for Montreal?_ he texted to Isco.

 _Tomorrow_ , was the reply that came three seconds later.

_Have a good flight._

_Thanks. When are you being presented?_

_Friday. 22 nd._

_Of course._

_What?_

_You seem to like the number 22 a lot._

_Well, I’m taking the number 22._

_What? Fuck. Are you serious?_

_What? What the fuck is wrong with you?_

_That’s my number. Fuck you._

_Fuck off. That’s my birthday. It’s more my number than yours._

_Well, it was my number first._

_Ew, I can’t believe I’m gonna wear the same number as you._

_It’s pretty gross._

_I’ll share 22 with you like you shared San Fran with me._

_Fuck, I don’t need you to share it with me._

_Ok, be that way._

No reply for five minutes, then. Then a reply, of course, because the day Isco was willing to shut up by himself, willing to let Franco have the last word, willing to move on without knowing he was being accepted – was the day the sun exploded.

_Fine. Share the 22._

Franco sent him a row of that emoji wearing sunglasses. He received a row of middle fingers right back.

 _Good night, Alarcon_ , he texted. _Bon voyage. Have fun hanging out with Alvaro._

_I will :)_

And then he went offline and Franco stared at their conversation window until his screen turned off, but was still unable to figure out why just a short little conversation with Isco was able to settle him so comfortably.

\------

Isco’s first day in Montreal was honestly pretty boring.

He slept on the plane, so he didn’t feel sleepy early in the evening. But some of his teammates weren’t so lucky. Alvaro, for example.

Isco sat in the armchair in Alvaro’s room, head hung over one side and legs over the other. Alvaro was flopped over in bed, face pressed into the pillow, but Isco just talked. He talked about everything. He talked about everything he’d learned from Franco in Dubai and Vegas and San Francisco. About the stars. About how one side of Uranus was always day. He never mentioned Franco, but. But he just talked. Because he knew if Alvaro went to sleep right then, then he was stuck with that body clock.

Alvaro finally got enough of his babbling and snapped, “Would you just shut the fuck up for one second and let me sleep?”

Isco froze mid-sentence. Alvaro didn’t sound very pleased – and well, that was obvious why, but. But Alvaro seemed more volatile than he normally was.

“If you sleep now, you’re going to wake up in the middle of the night when it’s morning in Madrid,” Isco said patiently, slowly, afraid that Alvaro would blow up at him halfway through. “And then your body clock will be Spanish for the rest of this trip.”

Alvaro finally opened his eyes. He stared at Isco for a while.

And then he started to cry.

And Isco was internally like, _what the fuck_. Literally the last time Isco had seen Alvaro cry was that night three years ago when he’d kissed Alvaro and Alvaro was puking into the toilet. Isco hurriedly got up and went to sit on the bed next to Alvaro.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey. Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry. Alvaro. Hey.”

“I’m fine.”

“Talk to me,” Isco said, putting his hand on Alvaro’s back.

“I don’t have anything to say.”

Isco sighed. Alvaro was obviously troubled but he also had a fragile view on masculinity and so he would never say if something was really up. Isco waited for Alvaro to change his mind but Alvaro didn’t, and Isco didn’t really know if he was supposed to stay or if Alvaro would prefer to be alone, so he got up. “Okay, I’ll go back, then. Let you sleep.”

He got halfway to the door when Alvaro said, “I feel so alone.”

Isco turned back and shuffled to the bed, sitting down on it again, in the little dent he’d made earlier. Part of him knew that Franco would disapprove, part of him felt irked that he was actually sitting on a bed in his outside clothes, but. But Alvaro didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Alvaro was all tangled up in the sheets in his outside clothes. And fuck Franco, anyway, who did he think he was, lingering in Isco’s mind from across the Atlantic.

“Why do you say that?” Isco asked. “You’re not alone.”

“I don’t know.”

“You do. You know. Tell me why.”

Alvaro sighed. He opened his eyes. And then he said, “Paulo.”

Isco felt his lips curl slightly upwards. It wasn’t that he was laughing at Alvaro’s misfortune or anything, but. But he just _knew_ that was coming. “What about Paulo?” he asked, because if there was one thing he’d learned over the summer, it was that Isco Alarcon was quite a good listener if he tried.

So he and Alvaro launched into an entire conversation about Paulo. It wasn’t the first time that Alvaro turned to Isco for advice about Paulo. It wasn’t even the second time. It was only one out of like, twenty times. That was how much Alvaro trusted Isco. Part of Isco wished he was brave enough himself to open his mouth to Alvaro about what he was feeling towards Franco.

He eventually managed to convince Alvaro to have a talk with Paulo and sort everything out. He thought he had Alvaro in the bag. But then Alvaro stopped him again, and asked if his relationship with Paulo was going to get in the way of Paulo’s football.

Isco sighed. Alvaro was. Well, he was even more annoying than Franco at this point. Isco lay back on the bed, his head hitting the pillow hard. “Okay. Alvaro, I’m going to start dishing shit out at you, and you’re going to open your fucking mouth and eat it all.”

“What the fuck,” Alvaro said. “You’ve been hanging out with Franco too much.”

Alvaro didn’t even know Isco had spent the entire summer with Franco but he’d managed to snuff that out. Isco should probably start to be less obvious.

But anyway, he gave this super long talk and finally managed to convince Alvaro again that Paulo’s life wasn’t going to be ruined in any way. Because Alvaro and Paulo were like. They were _meant to be together_. The shit they were going to have to get through while being together was _never_ going to hold a candle to whatever they had gone through without each other.

In the end, Alvaro wasn’t the only one who was convinced. Isco was convinced, too, by his very own words.

_It’s no good to leave things just. Just hanging like that. It’s never good._

_You have to say it. You can’t just leave it hanging in the air and expect each other to understand._

“When did you become so fucking wise?” Alvaro asked. When Isco didn’t respond, he continued, “Hey. Are you repressing some things? When did you become such a love guru?”

And there it was, the opening for Isco to start talking about Franco. But Isco didn’t take it. He wouldn’t admit that he was repressing more things than he ever had in his entire life. He wouldn’t admit how fucking vulnerable he was, because. Because that was his fucking deepest fear right there and then. Franco Vazquez made him vulnerable. Isco wouldn’t face it. He didn’t know how to. And if he talked about it, then it would be real.

Besides, he knew talking about it wouldn’t change anything. There wasn’t anything he could do about him liking Franco, unlike what Alvaro could do about him and Paulo. Because Franco was aromantic. He wasn’t looking for a romantic relationship and he wasn’t a believer in one-sided romantic relationships. There was going to be no happy ending for Isco no matter whether he talked about it.

So instead, he raised his middle finger high up in the air at Alvaro.

“Is it because of Franco?” Alvaro asked.

Isco sighed. Opening number two. But still, nothing would help. He had a fucking crush on Franco Vazquez and it wasn’t even because of dick. No one could help him.

So he got up and walked to the door again. “Get some sleep, Morata. Just don’t come knocking at my door if you wake up at four in the morning.”

“Hey,” Alvaro called when Isco had stepped outside and was closing the door. He opened it a little and stared at Alvaro. “You two would be cute together.”

Isco smiled. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but smile even though his heart felt like it was falling into some deep abyss. He couldn’t stop imagining him and Franco together. Getting to kiss Franco whenever he liked. Holding Franco’s fucking gigantic hands, not even in the sexual way, just. Just holding them. Listening to Franco talk about everything on his fucking beautiful mind. Trying to hold on to Franco’s hand as he intentionally walked too quickly for Isco to catch up. Having everyone wonder how the fuck they got along despite being complete opposites, but having complete faith that both he and Franco knew being opposites was exactly what brought them together. He knew they’d be cute together. He hadn’t needed Alvaro to tell him that.

He shook his head internally. He had to fucking stop that. Nothing was even close to any part of reality.

Isco shut Alvaro’s door and returned to his room next door. He got into the shower and got himself clean before getting into bed. He thought about what he’d told Alvaro about not leaving things hanging.

Because that seemed to be exactly what he was doing with Franco.

They’d never talked about it. Not really. Because there had never been a reason to talk about it. Isco was pretty sure Franco thought that. To Franco, this was just. It was just what it was. It was sex. Isco was his fuck buddy. His friend. There was literally nothing more than that, like Franco had hit an invisible ceiling.

But it had never been this easy for Isco. Sure, he’d tried to let it just be about sex. But Franco was. He was fucking _beautiful_. Not even just on the outside. Not just his hands or his smile or his hair. But he was beautiful inside. He was the most thoroughly beautiful person Isco had met in his entire life. And Isco would, in a heartbeat, do whatever it took just for Franco to be happy. He knew Franco would for him, too.

It was just that he and Franco had different intentions.

Isco wanted Franco to be happy because, well. Because he liked Franco.

Franco wanted Isco to be happy because Isco was his friend and Franco cared fiercely about all his friends.

Isco sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was a better idea to live this out or to completely cut Franco off. If being so close to Franco was better than being far from him. If he should live with the opportunity he had with the person he liked, no matter how irrelevant it was, or just give up on it altogether to save himself. He knew that either way, he was just going to hurt himself. And Franco too, but. But Franco had no emotions attached to this. He was going to hurt less.

As much as all of those seemed like horrible ideas, they were also the only two choices Isco had. Isco liked Franco. That was one thing that Isco was completely clear about. And whatever it was that happened, Isco knew that he was just going to have to live with it. Whether his relationship with Franco was going to survive after this – they just had to wait and see.

Isco shut his eyes. He hadn’t felt this way for a guy, ever. He’d always been into girls. Girls and dick. But just girls. Not men. Franco was his very first crush on a guy and Isco just. He hated feeling this weak, even towards a girl, but this was _a guy_. This felt like a personal attack. It was a double-arrow hitting Isco, filling him with the venom of his deepest fear, of vulnerability.

He closed his eyes for a while, just catching his breath. Even _thinking_ of Franco had him breathless, fuck, Isco was in so deep.

He knew he was definitely in trouble when, despite all the deep thinking he’d just done moments ago, picked up his phone and opened his text conversation with Franco.

_I helped you kick Alvaro’s ass._

There wasn’t any reply for ten minutes, which normally wasn’t strange but was strange when it came to Franco because Franco always replied Isco’s messages almost immediately after Isco had sent them.

He replied fifteen minutes later. _How and why? Sorry, I was in the shower._

Isco’s heart fell with relief. _He talked to me about Paulo,_ he typed and sent. _They haven’t talked but they’re going to._

_You’re finally of good use, Alarcon._

_Fuck you._

Franco didn’t reply. Isco put his phone down cautiously. The silence felt heavy, even though it was virtual. It seemed like one of those weird silences they used to have when they’d first met and Franco’s mouth was always glued shut and Isco had to come up with something to say. Isco was sure this was just his imagination playing tricks on him, but. But it didn’t change the fact that he _felt it_.

His phone buzzed again as he lay there staring out at the little blob of light the street lamp made through the curtain.

 _How’s Montreal?_ was what Franco had sent.

Isco smiled. _El Mudo_ was trying to revive the conversation. _El Mudo_ was trying to move them along. Isco would gladly take that. Much as he did not have control over this situation, there was one person in the world he would gladly hand over the reins to. He was lucky that this person was automatically taking them.

Unfortunately he didn’t have anything much to say about Montreal because it was their first day there, so he told Franco that. And how the flight sucked because he didn’t have Franco around to babble about the stars. Talked about how he saw the moon and wanted to tell Franco. About how Isco’s teammates were all being lazy fucks like jet-lagged Franco.

Franco listened to everything – or rather, he read all of Isco’s messages faithfully and replied to everything with his own expectedly snarky comments. Like he knew Isco was trying to stay awake because it was like, seven pm. Dinner was being provided but optional because everyone was sleeping anyway, and Isco wanted to stay awake until it was a decent time to fall asleep, yet he was too lazy to get his butt downstairs. Isco didn’t say a word, but. But _Franco knew_.

He suggested that Isco sleep early, at like nine pm or something, and wake up early to go to the gym or something, so it wouldn’t be like he was wasting his time. Isco thought that was a good idea.

Franco talked to him until nine pm before suddenly disappearing offline. Isco was worried for a few brief minutes before realizing.

It was some ungodly hour in the morning in Spain. Franco had probably fallen asleep.

Part of Isco was incredibly touched that Franco did that for him. Part of him was annoyed because, well. How the fuck was Isco supposed to get rid of these feelings if Franco was being his stupid, dumb, kind, _marvelous_ self?

Isco fell asleep clutching his phone to his chest, the clock app open on the display and reading _‘Madrid, tomorrow, +6 hours, 3:06am.’_

\------

On the 22nd of July, Franco was presented at the Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán stadium.

Isco woke up already remembering it, but was also reminded by the announcement that appeared in his notifications. He opened their text conversation to send a congratulations message, but then decided otherwise.

He kept his promise and opened Instagram instead. He dug up that photograph Franco had taken of them, the first one of their backs, sitting on the ledge at Red Rock, Isco laughing and Franco elbowing him.

He posted it with the caption, _Bienvenido a España,_ followed by a Spanish flag and a smiley emoji. He tagged Franco in the photo.

Then he got out of bed and got ready for the day, but was interrupted halfway through brushing his teeth by violent knocking on his door. Isco rolled his eyes, spat out his toothpaste, and trudged to the door with a towel around his waist.

It was Alvaro, waving his phone vigorously at Isco and jabbing at the screen, which was displaying the photo Isco had just posted.

“When did you take this photo?!” he demanded at the top of his lungs as he barged right into the room.

“Chill the fuck out,” Isco said, shutting the door and walking back into the bathroom.

“No! When did you take it?”

“Summer.”

“Summer!” Alvaro exclaimed. “You spent _summer_ with _Franco_?”

“Jesus, don’t burst a blood vessel.”

“Oh man, now I feel bad that I didn’t even have time to catch up with you,” Alvaro said. He got his phone again and started scrolling through Isco’s Instagram feed, finding the photo Isco had posted with the party in the USA caption. He waved it at Isco. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t get a chance to.”

“Bull fucking shit,” Alvaro said. “You’ve had plenty of chances.”

“Well, it’s nothing,” Isco said. He got himself dry and came out of the bathroom in his underwear to put on his pants. “He just spent a little time with me because I was upset about the Euros.”

“So how long did you spend together?”

“Uh, like, three weeks.”

“ _Three weeks!_ ” Alvaro yelled. “That’s not just ‘a little time!’”

“Jesus, Morata, you gotta chill a little bit.”

“I’m not going to until you tell me what the fuck is going on!” Alvaro said, but he didn’t sound mad, just. Just really eager and nosy and like he wanted Isco and Franco to be a thing. Well, Isco wanted that too, but.

Alvaro went over to Isco’s bed and sat down in it in disbelief. “Are your clothes clean?” Isco asked.

“Why the fuck do you care if my clothes are clean?” Alvaro asked, and well. Okay, good point. Alvaro wasn’t familiar with this side of Isco yet. Isco let it go.

As luck would have it, Isco’s phone lit up on his pillow with a notification right at that very moment, as Alvaro was sitting right next to it.

_Instagram: fdv2289 liked your photo._

_Instagram: fdv2289 commented on your photo: Gracias :)_

“Holy fucking fuck!” Alvaro said when he accidentally-on-purpose saw it.

“What, he can’t even say thank you to me now?”

“I can’t believe this is happening. That I’m witnessing all of this with my own eyes. Isco. You gotta tell me everything.”

“Okay, so we spent summer together.”

“Where did you go?”

“Dubai. Vegas. And some other US cities. San Francisco.”

“Vegas,” Alvaro repeated, laughing loudly and flopping over on the bed. “ _Vegas_. Did you guys accidentally get married? I feel like out of everyone I know, you and Franco are the most likely to do it.”

“Fuck off,” Isco said, although, well, it was true. Out of everyone _Isco_ knew, he and Franco really seemed like the most likely to accidentally get married in Vegas. Especially after knowing how wild Franco was when he was drunk. “I don’t think we did.”

“So this was in Vegas?” Alvaro asked, gesturing to the photo again. Isco nodded. “Are you two a couple?”

“No,” Isco said. “You know Franco, don’t you? He’s aro.”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said thoughtfully. “Well. Yeah.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Fuck buddies.”

“Yeah.”

“Good, then now he won’t come after my Paulo,” Alvaro said. He burst into laughter when Isco turned and stared at him. “Just kidding. Don’t be mad.”

“That’s all. There’s literally nothing to talk about.”

“I _knew_ you two would hit it off,” Alvaro said proudly. “Paulo and I knew.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Isco smiled.

They got out of the room and downstairs for breakfast quietly. They didn’t say anything until after they’d gotten their food and were heading to an empty table.

“Hey,” Alvaro said. “Isco.”

“Yeah.”

“You know Franco, yeah?” Alvaro said softly. “You said so yourself. He’s aro. So…just. Just don’t get hurt. Okay?”

Isco nodded and smiled. He appreciated it, honestly. He liked that Alvaro cared.

He was just afraid that it was already too late.

\------

The moment Isco knew there had been a video taken of Keylor helping him with his haircut, he _knew_ what was going to happen.

Indeed, barely an hour after the video was uploaded on the club’s Instagram account, he received a text from Franco.

_Why the fuck did you cut your hair!!!!!!!_

Isco burst into laughter. He was sitting in his room with Alvaro, passing time during their break before they were supposed to go out on a final tour of the city and a meet and greet followed by a short gym session. Alvaro turned to him curiously and Isco quickly shut up, but Alvaro’s eyes lit up when he realised what was happening.

Isco ignored him for a moment. _It was getting long and ugly,_ he replied Franco.

_It wasn’t._

_It looks nicer now._

_It doesn’t._

_Why are you stalking me anyway?_

_I’m not stalking you._

_It looks nicer now. Trust me._

_I like it when it’s longer._

_Why?_

No reply. Just the header alternating between _typing…_ and _online._

And then after about a minute, like Franco had been contemplating whether to send it or not, _I like to put my hands in it._

 _Aww, El Mudo likes touching my hair,_ Isco sent.

_Shut the fuck up. I don’t like it now._

_It’s nice. Trust me. You’ll like it._

_:(_

“Who you textin’?” Alvaro called in a singsong voice from where he was sprawled out on Isco’s bed, trying to sound casual but his stupid eager eyes giving everything away.

“No one,” Isco said.

“You’re smiling at your fucking phone,” Alvaro rolled his eyes. “It’s Franco, isn’t it?”

“Whatever you want to think.”

“What’s he saying?” Alvaro asked, crawling to the edge of the bed and clawing at Isco’s phone. Isco wouldn’t let him take it. “C’mon, spill it. I wanna hear.”

“He asked me why I cut my hair,” Isco said.

“Because it was long, duh,” Alvaro said.

“I told him that.”

“What did he say?”

“Said he likes it long because he likes putting his hands in it.”

Alvaro froze. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. And opened it again. And closed it. He did that a few times, like he was a fish out of water. And then, “What the fuck! I want to unhear that.”

Isco laughed again. “You asked for it!”

“Noooo,” Alvaro flopped over on the bed and rolled over so he was tangled in the sheets. “Now this image is seared in my mind forever.”

“That’ll teach you not to ask so many questions.”

“I can’t believe my friends are fucking,” Alvaro said, muffled into the pillow.

“ _You_ can’t believe your friends are fucking. I’ve been living with you wanting to fuck Paulo. For _decades_. Franco has, too.”

“Please never let me see you two together.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t.”

Alvaro turned around slowly and sat up curiously. “Why? Are you still seeing each other?”

Isco shrugged. “It’s just a fuck buddy thing to him. So, like. Whenever he wants.”

“Whenever you two want.”

“Yeah.”

“But do you like him?” Alvaro asked. “Just be honest with me. Do you?”

“You know I’m not into guys,” Isco said. “Not that way.”

“I know,” Alvaro said. And then just went quiet and stared at Isco until he caved.

Isco sighed. “Yeah, I guess. I guess I do kinda like him.”

Alvaro gave this super big ‘I knew it’ smile. It faded soon after, though, when he realised what that meant. “But you know…yeah?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Do you think he’ll ever change his mind about being aromantic?”

“It’s not so easy, Alvaro. It’s not black and white. It’s who he is. I can’t change him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Isco thought about that for a while. He knew Franco would never change his mind. Because it would be admitting that he had lost control of himself, lost control of his thoughts, lost control of who he was supposed to be. He refused to think about all the little signs Franco was possibly giving him. Because to Isco, they were signs – but to Franco, they were nothing.

And besides, Isco thought he was doing pretty well. Not many people could say they were fucking the person they liked. Or that they were good friends with the person they liked. It didn’t matter that Franco got more beautiful every time Isco looked at or spoke to him. It didn’t matter. As long as Isco got to _be with him_. Isco had always done whatever the fuck he wanted. This wasn’t going to be any different.

So he said, “Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alvaro let it go. Honestly, when Isco thought about it, he was the most persistent out of everyone he knew. He wondered why all his friends were still friends with him. “Well, if you ever want to,” Alvaro said, gesturing to himself.

Isco just smiled. He didn’t think he would ever be able to speak about it without being sad.

\------

As much as Franco didn’t like to admit it, it was pretty quiet without Isco around.

Well, one reason he didn’t like to admit it was because. Because he’d literally only known Isco for less than three months. He hated to think that he was already becoming reliant on Isco. Because Franco Vazquez wasn’t _reliant_ on anyone, ever.

But then he thought about it and, well. Out of the three months they’d known each other, there had only been a handful of days where they’d gone without seeing each other or texting. There had been that entire chunk where they were on holiday together. And the rest of the time, they’d seen each other once a week to fuck. And the rest of the days, just texting nonsense to each other. There were probably only a handful of days that had passed without some sort of interaction between them. Franco could probably count them with his fingers.

But Franco didn’t want to be the one to _text first_. He’d heard all about it these days. He didn’t want to be too eager. Plus, he didn’t know what kind of protocol he was supposed to follow.

It took him a while to realise that if he was going to follow any sort of protocol, then he was in some deep fucking trouble.

Because to have any kind of guideline, any kind of rules or advice written for what he and Isco had – meant that _he and Isco were a thing._

Franco wasn’t sure he actually wanted that. Frankly, Franco wasn’t actually sure of anything at all.

So he thought, fuck it, and texted Isco to bug him all the time. Even when Isco was back in Madrid a few days before the Super Cup, because it was still too busy for them to meet. Ultimately it turned out not to matter, because even if he hadn’t, Isco would text him first.

 _Alvaro keeps asking me if we accidentally got married in Vegas_ , Isco said to him one day.

Franco froze upon reading the message, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, racking his brain to try and remember if they’d really done that.

 _Did we?_ he eventually replied. _I’m worth nothing when I’m drunk. And I was mostly drunk._

_What if I told you we did?_

_Don’t fuck around with me or I’ll go over to Madrid right this moment and kick you in the dick._

_We did._

_We sure as fucking hell did not._

_You were drunk half the time, what the hell do you even remember?_

_We didn’t. Tell me we didn’t._

A very, very long pause. Franco could imagine Isco all curled up in laughter, snickering and giggling and having a fucking whale of a time teasing Franco. Part of him wished he could see that in real life. Or at least listen. Listen to Isco’s laughter. Because it was the purest, most joyful sound in the entire universe.

Franco shook his head. He wasn’t going to let these thoughts run him.

Well, he was going to _try_ not to let these thoughts run him. Franco was very rapidly sliding down a slippery slope. That became very evident when he tapped on the little phone icon in their conversation window without any further hesitation.

Isco was laughing when he picked up the call, just as Franco had anticipated. Franco felt his heart give a little skip of happiness. It was a foreign feeling. So foreign that Franco almost cringed.

“So did we?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you fucking called me just to find out.”

“Just answer me.”

“Would it be such a bad thing?” Isco asked. “To be married to me?”

Franco gave that a thought – a very brief thought, because the answer that came to his mind instantaneously was _no, it isn’t_. Franco didn’t know what was coming over him. It was like he was a giddy schoolboy having his first crush and doodling ‘Isco + Franco’ in tiny hearts on his notebook and imagining their life in the future. Except, well. Except that Franco had technically _never_ had a first crush. This made _Isco_ his first crush. God, that was disgusting.

“You’re just asking that because you wanna be married to me,” Franco eventually said, just to digress. “Everyone wants a piece of Franco Vazquez.”

“Fuck off,” Isco said softly. “That’s gross.”

Franco heard some soft murmuring in the background, and then some scuffling sounds like Isco was having a fistfight with someone, and then Alvaro’s voice on the phone saying, “You guys are already fighting like an old married couple anyway, so what’s the difference?”

“Fuck off, Morata,” Franco and Isco said at the exact same time.

Alvaro burst into laughter, like Franco and Isco had just proved his point for him.

“So we’re not, yeah?” Franco asked once Alvaro’s laughter had faded sufficiently into the background.

“Why are you so worried anyway?” Isco asked.

“Because I’m already married to someone else,” Franco said, trying not to burst into laughter. If Isco wanted to play this game – well, Franco would play along.

He heard Isco’s phone clatter to the ground, followed by a soft ‘fucking hell,’ muttered by Isco. Then Alvaro laughing again, and then a bunch of static, and then finally Isco saying, “What?”

“You heard me. Now tell me the truth or I’ll be put in jail, Alarcon, this is fucking illegal.”

A long, long silence. Then, “Who are you married to?” in the _softest_ whisper, like Isco thought this was some big secret he couldn’t let anyone hear about.

“No one you know.”

Another long silence, like Isco was contemplating how to respond. Or like he wanted to ask more questions but wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. Then he finally said, “We’re not married.”

“Aha!” Franco exclaimed. “I knew we didn’t do something so stupid.”

“What,” Isco said. It wasn’t even a question. Just. Just what. “Wait. Did you just fucking _trick_ me?”

Franco burst into laughter at the image of Isco’s completely-defeated-yet-still-adamant face in his mind. It only became worse when Isco made some incoherent little sounds over the phone which turned out to be a series of expletives.

“I fucking _hate you_ ,” he finally managed to say. “Jesus, fuck! I got so scared!”

“You’re so fucking gullible,” Franco laughed. “Who the fuck did you think I was married to?”

“I don’t fucking know! Probably to help a friend or something! What the fuck!”

“I wanna say I’m honoured you trust me so much, but,” Franco managed to say before he burst into laughter again. “No.”

“Fuck you, Vazquez.”

“But it wouldn’t be so bad if we were married, would it?” Franco mused. “Like, everyone would go crazy. We could trick the entire world.”

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?” Isco asked.

“I don’t know. It sounds fun. Seems like something you’d be into.”

A short pause. Then a soft laugh. “Yeah, I’d be into that.”

“So you wanna be married to me.”

“I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“I can’t put my dick into your mouth right now, so words are my only choice.”

“Fuck you,” Isco said. “I’m glad I’m not married to you.”

“Me, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Silence as they caught their breaths.

“Can’t wait to see you, Vazquez,” Isco finally said.

“Me or my dick?”

“Your dick,” Isco said, followed by a loud ‘Jesus Christ!’ in the background from Alvaro.

“See you in Norway,” Franco said softly. The Super Cup. Franco was almost ashamed to say he was counting down the days. He comforted himself with the fact that there was this tiny part of him that was counting down solely because it was going to be his first competitive appearance for Sevilla.

“See ya,” Isco said, and then hung up.

It was strangely quiet again.

Franco turned on the TV and maxed the volume so he’d have something to annoy him. He cleaned up his house a bit. It was still a little empty in some places. Maybe the next time Isco was around he could help pick out some furniture.

The fact that this thought managed to manifest itself in Franco’s mind made him shudder. It wasn’t that he found it disgusting – okay, who was he kidding, _it was disgusting_ , Franco Vazquez was _never soft,_ okay – but more of. More of a confused shudder. Getting knocked off guard. Because Franco had never encountered all of these weird thoughts before and he had no fucking idea where to put them. He shoved them under his mental rug. Maybe he’d deal with them later. But only maybe.

Besides, Franco was pretty sure that Isco didn’t feel that way about him. Isco wasn’t into men. Not romantically. Despite his confusion regarding Franco’s sexuality and romanticity, Isco had always seemed to be sure of his own. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who would change his mind so easily. Because he wanted to be in control, just like Franco. And just like Franco, he knew that if he started wondering if he had been wrong, then there would be at least this brief window where the control was lost. That was where they were similar. When they decided on something, that was the only way to go.

So that was it. Isco was into hetero relationships. Franco was into no relationships at all. And they were both into gay sex. This was what made them work so well – the fact that there were no further possibilities. It was like, despite the ironic religious connotations, God had sent them to each other.

Eventually Franco got restless so he picked up his phone to text Isco again.

_On the 21 st April 2032, when you’re 40 and still no one wants you, I’ll marry you. _

There was no reply for a long while and Franco conducted a search in the app functions to find out if it was possible to unsend the message. He obsessed over it for a few hours but didn’t manage to do anything before Isco replied.

_Deal :)_

Franco smiled. This was it. This was enough. Enough to prove to himself that this was all that it had ever been – no emotions involved. Because he was sure if they were, neither of them would agree to a marriage this easily. They were just sort of backup plans for each other. Convenience. Pleasure. This was all there is: something physical, something to laugh about. Everything tangible, everything out on the table in front of them. Nothing intangible like love or crushes or second thoughts. Nothing intangible like fear.

Because Franco wasn’t scared. Franco Vazquez wasn’t scared of anything, especially not Isco. Isco fucking Alarcon. Franco didn’t understand what kind of magic he was intentionally or unintentionally conducting, but Franco wasn’t going to be scared enough to give in.


	14. Do You Understand That We Will Never Be The Same Again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The process of writing this chapter included watching 500 videos of the RM-Sevilla Supercup and crying every time these two appeared in the same frame. Btw, I eventually gave up and watched the first 60 minutes of the thing. Amazingly, I took 2 hours to do that.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and thank you for waiting!
> 
> Title is from Things We Lost In The Fire by Bastille.

Franco and Isco brought the phrase ‘fraternizing with the enemy’ to the next fucking level in Norway.

Isco alighted the bus at the hotel to the usual crowd of fans waiting for autographs. He stopped for most of them. He finally entered the hotel lobby with a sigh.

And he saw Franco in inconspicuous outside clothes, standing in the darkest corner of the lobby, wedged between a marble pillar and a bin. And.

And _holding a banana._

He was just standing there with a banana in his hand and staring at Isco. Just staring at Isco until Isco noticed him. His lips twitched upwards when Isco did. He raised his other hand and slowly, slowly peeled the banana, somehow managing to make Isco slow his steps just to watch.

When Franco was done peeling the banana, he lifted it to his mouth – slowly again, God, that man was a fucking tease – and wrapped his lips around it. He slid his mouth down the length of the fruit, just a couple inches, lingering long enough to make Isco’s jaw fall open slightly.

And then he suddenly snapped off the tip of the banana with his teeth, shocking Isco into a little surprised jump. Isco blinked a few times. He gulped down the pool of spit that had accumulated below his tongue. He ignored the gentle throbbing in his crotch area.

He saw Franco fucking _beaming_ at him, free arm crossed under the one holding the banana, still chewing the bit he’d bitten off. He held it out towards Isco, like he was asking Isco if he wanted some.

And fuck, if he was asking Isco what Isco thought he was, then, well. Of course Isco wanted some.

Isco swallowed hard again. He managed to float his way to the lift lobby and took his phone out from his pocket while waiting for the lift with everyone else.

 _Room number,_ he texted Franco.

The reply came almost instantaneously. _1722\. Waiting naked in bed._

So Isco got to his room, put all his stuff down, and headed back down the same old road to the same old hole, knowing at the back of his mind that maybe it was time he tried to get out of it – but at the same time knowing that he’d never be able to, and that he didn’t care.

\------

Franco realised, again, the problem with waiting naked in bed once he shut the door. Luckily for him, Isco appeared like, three seconds later, violently banging on his door. Franco opened it.

“We gotta work something out about waiting nake–“ was all Franco managed to say before Isco kicked the door shut and literally pounced on Franco, knocking him backwards so hard he almost fell on his ass. “Jesus, Alarcon.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco pressed his lips on Franco’s. Hard. “Shut the fuck up. Just shut up.”

“As I was _saying_ ,” Franco mumbled, _anyway_ , in between all of Isco’s eager kisses. “We should work something out about waiting naked in bed.”

“Later,” Isco said, like he meant it, even though he didn’t. He realised Franco was just going to stand there so he unwrapped his thighs from around Franco and put his feet on the ground, shoving Franco backwards until they got to the armchair. And then he gave Franco one last shove so Franco landed in the chair. “Sit the fuck down.”

And, well. Franco was already sitting down. He didn’t know what else exactly he was supposed to do. He watched Isco warily, just standing in front of him, panting heavily and open-mouthed, eyes dark and eager, gaze hard. His arms opened instinctively as Isco finally made his move, climbing into Franco’s lap and straddling him, his calves resting nicely in the space left between Franco’s thighs and the armrests.

Franco wrapped his arms all the way around Isco’s waist, so tightly his hands were almost able to meet his own elbows behind Isco. He loved how tiny Isco was. He loved how muscular and sturdy Isco was _despite_ how tiny he was. He opened his mouth to let Isco’s tongue in, his hands sliding and sliding until they found the hem of Isco’s t-shirt to slide themselves under. Isco buckled against him, his lips leaving Franco’s to gasp against Franco’s cheek. He began to rock his hips against Franco. Franco could feel Isco’s boner rubbing against his own.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed against Isco’s cheek.

Isco gave this little, very arousing moan right into Franco’s ear, and Franco swore his dick twitched a little. “I’m so fucking turned on right now,” Isco whispered.

“By a banana?”

“Fuck you, Vazquez. Fuck you. I’m fucking turned on by you.”

Franco smiled. He felt Isco’s cheeks dimple in response. He stood up with Isco’s legs around his waist and walked over to the bed to dump him on it, sideways across, over the sheets instead of on the pillows.

“I’m dirty,” Isco protested, like. Like Franco actually _cared_. Franco _didn’t fucking care_.

He clambered over Isco and slid Isco’s suit jacket off his shoulders before undoing his tie hastily. He knew that Isco was still fully dressed simply because he had been too eager to get to Franco’s room to actually strip himself of his thousand layers of clothes, but. But he liked to think that Isco kept himself wrapped as a gift for Franco to unwrap.

So Franco did, diligently. He flung the tie and suit jacket on the floor and started unbuttoning Isco’s shirt. He did it slowly, running his hands up and down Isco’s abdomen over the fabric, smiling when Isco keened upwards for more, physically begging Franco to just take it all off. Franco eventually did, bottom to top so he was able to slide his hands over Isco’s skin as he removed Isco’s shirt.

“I’ll just do it myself,” Isco muttered impatiently. He pushed Franco backwards into a kneeling position and sat up. He kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt and pants and wriggled out of them as Franco watched. Then he knelt down himself, face to face with Franco, and tugged at Franco’s black hoodie and the t-shirt underneath until he got them off over Franco’s head. And then. And then Isco just. Just reached over and cupped Franco’s boner in his hand, causing Franco to give an embarrassingly violent shudder.

Isco leaned over and kissed Franco on the lips again, tongue working the inside of Franco’s mouth as his hand worked Franco’s cock over his sweatpants. He let Franco lower him back on the bed, head still lifting off just to get more of Franco. Franco put his hand at the nape of Isco’s neck to support it.

But Isco suddenly moved his hands to Franco’s cheeks and pulled Franco off him. He glanced briefly at the clock on the bedside table before turning back to Franco, his deep brown eyes desperate. “Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” he breathed.

“What,” Franco said. Just what. Like, Franco was literally surviving right then only by rubbing himself off Isco’s leg and now Isco was telling him he _couldn’t do it_? And what the hell did he even mean anyway? “Why?”

“No, I mean,” Isco sighed, combing his hand through his hair to push it back on his head. “I have a team meeting in like, fifteen minutes. And.”

“And?”

“And I don’t think I can last, okay?” Isco said, softly like he was embarrassed. “Fuck, Vazquez. I’m so fucking hard. You have no fucking idea.”

And Franco was just suddenly so fucking _relieved_ , because okay, that could be easily solved and they could both get their orgasms. And also, he had briefly thought that Isco was saying he could do _this entire thing anymore_ , and _shit_ , that was literally the last thing in the world Franco wanted. He would rather swab a million different strains of bacteria all over his body. That was how much he did not want this to end.

“I think I have some idea,” Franco said, because, well. There was this little wet pool in Isco’s underwear, which was lying on the ground.

Franco reached down again, curling his fingers around Isco’s dick. He felt Isco stiffen, his back straightening and then arching away from Franco. He curled his fingers tighter and slid them all the way to the end of Isco’s dick, putting some pressure and collecting the precome that oozed out his tip. He lifted his fingers to his mouth as Isco watched his every move. He licked Isco’s precome off his fingers as he stared at Isco. He saw Isco swallow heavily, his pupils dilating even further as he watched Franco’s hand, before finally lifting his gaze to meet Franco’s.

Isco gave a soft, exasperated sigh. He grabbed Franco by the shoulders and flipped him over on his back in some WWE-esque move, and violently pulled Franco’s sweatpants down his hips, forcing them off together with Franco’s shoes. Fuck, this dude was fucking strong for how tiny he was.

Franco tried to say that out loud, but was stopped abruptly when Isco smashed his lips on Franco’s, forcing Franco’s lips open and trying to choke Franco with his tongue yet again. He settled his knees and thighs in between Franco’s and used his hands to press on the insides of Franco’s thighs, holding them open. He pressed his crotch against Franco’s, aligning their dicks and thrusting his hips to frot them against each other.

Franco gave this. This really, really loud moan straight into Isco’s mouth. He’d have been embarrassed, but. But he also _wasn’t_ , because _fuck_ , that felt so good. Like immediate release. Franco wrapped his arms around Isco’s neck and pulled him closer, moving his own hips to the rhythm that Isco had set. He left his mouth open and welcoming towards Isco’s tongue, like they were having a mini World War III in the space between their lips.

It just felt like each time they did it, it became more comfortable. Each time they did it, they learned something new. Something to do that the other person liked. Each time they did it, they became more coherent, more graceful, more coordinated. They got more pleasure. Each time they did it, they got so much more _into it_.

Isco started breathing hot, quick breaths into Franco’s mouth when he was close. Which, well, took practically no time at all. His hips started to stutter, his dick still causing friction against Franco’s but now misaligned. Franco reached downwards and curled his fingers around both their cocks, allowing Isco to thrust into the circle of his fingers. Isco’s hips began to quicken again as they regained traction. And Franco just. Just lay there, under Isco, letting Isco do whatever the fuck he wanted. Letting Isco take control.

“Holy shit,” Isco whispered against Franco’s lips. His hips sped up, like he wanted to force his orgasm out. His eyes popped open to meet Franco’s as his hips thumped against Franco’s, so violently Franco was actually worried they’d leave bruises or whatever, because after all the hip bone was one of the strongest bones in the body.

But then, he also realised that he didn’t really care.

“C’mon,” he urged, pushing his hips upwards to meet Isco’s. They were literally just fucking rubbing their dicks together, driven by the withdrawal of being separated again – but the friction, although of the simplest kind, was _magical_. Franco found himself marvelling at it. Marvelling at Isco as he held Franco’s gaze the best he could, sweaty forehead pressed against Franco’s. Because, fuck. Right at that very moment, with the both of them pressed against each other on every surface they could afford – was when Franco realised that he might have been wrong about himself all these years. Right at that very moment opened the slightest, minutest little window in which Franco allowed himself to lose a little control. “Shit, come on, Alarcon.”

“Fuck, Franco,” Isco said in a soft little cry as he came. He dug his hips deeper into Franco’s, his body moving in a wave up until his shoulders until he was plastered so tightly against Franco that Franco was doubtful an ant could crawl through. Isco had never called Franco by name while they were having sex. Never. Not Franco. Just Vazquez. It made everything that much less intimate. This was the very first time, and fuck, did it come at the worst time possible.

That thought only had time to briefly flicker in Franco’s head before Franco came himself, his hips straining upwards, come spurting on his abdomen to join Isco’s. He squeezed his eyes shut as a tiny gasp escaped his lips. He vaguely noticed Isco reaching for his come-covered hand and lifting it to his mouth, licking all the white salty stuff off it and swallowing it. Then he placed Franco’s hand on his hip and buried his face into Franco’s neck, heavy breaths warming Franco’s skin.

“Holy fuck,” he said.

And well, ‘holy fuck’ was everything Franco could think of, too. He moved his hand into Isco’s hair, now less thick than Franco was used to. But Isco had been right. It looked nice on him. And it was still nice to stick fingers into. It was nice and soft and smelled nice. Franco pressed his nose into it, hoping Isco wouldn’t notice.

Isco didn’t. He gave a little sigh into Franco’s neck as both their hips calmed the fuck down and stopped spasming. He nuzzled Franco’s neck a little with his nose. Franco wasn’t in control of his arms and couldn’t stop them from wrapping around Isco, holding him close in a hug.

Isco gave a little giggle. A _giggle_. “ _El Mudo_ is hugging me,” he said softly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco whispered against his earlobe.

Isco sighed. He turned and looked at the clock again before lifting himself out of Franco’s arms. He placed his forearms on both sides of Franco’s head, his fingers dancing softly in Franco’s hair. “I gotta go,” he said.

Franco nodded. “Okay.”

But Isco didn’t leave. He didn’t get up. He just lay there, sprawled over Franco, fingers still dipped in Franco’s wet hair. He lifted his head and gazed at Franco, his hands moving to hold Franco by the cheeks. And then he just. Just stared. He stared at Franco like he was trying to find some answers in Franco’s eyes, and he said nothing, just used his thumbs to gently stroke little circles on Franco’s cheeks and Franco was. Franco felt himself start to blush. He felt his face start to turn warm. His entire body start to turn warm. But for some reason, he couldn’t look away. _Franco couldn’t look away._

After an entire minute, Isco suddenly snapped out of it. He just. Just snapped, blinked a few times to get himself out of it, and sat up, making Franco feel really cold and exposed suddenly without his body heat. He got out of bed and popped into the bathroom for a towel to wipe himself clean before dumping it on Franco so Franco could do the same.

He put his clothes on in silence as Franco watched, propped up on his elbows. It was just completely silent. Not even a single peep from either of them. Isco dragged on his underwear, giving a little disgusted face when he realised it was still damp, followed by his trousers, buckling it gracefully with his tiny fingers. Then his belt. Then his shirt, and for some reason Franco couldn’t take his eyes off Isco’s hands. He liked those hands. He wanted to hold them.

Isco stuffed his tie in his pocket and slung his suit jacket over his arm. He started walking towards the door but stopped at the foot of the bed next to Franco. He stared at Franco for a while and Franco felt himself shrink under Isco’s gaze.

Then he leaned over and planted the gentlest kiss on Franco’s lips, one of his hands caressing Franco’s cheek. He left his face hovering over Franco’s for a while, his mouth falling open like he wanted to say something. His eyes were suddenly brooding. He shut his mouth, and then opened it again. And then shut it.

He eventually just gave Franco’s cheek a little squeeze and said, “Bye.”

Franco didn’t manage to give a reply before the door shut behind Isco. “Bye,” he said, anyway, to the empty room.

He flopped back down on his back and sighed. He stared at the water stain on the ceiling right above him. He thought about how he was slowly but surely losing control. It was leaking, oozing out of him like his come had been earlier. And one person had singlehandedly caused the oozing of these two things.

Franco was losing control. He was losing fucking control. He couldn’t believe it took him so fucking long to realise it. He still didn’t want to. Franco still wanted to be in control.

But he realised he’d already lost it, he’d lost it some time ago in San Francisco when he’d allowed Isco to make the ultimate decision on when their relationship would end. He’d lost it when he’d told Isco that Isco would decide when the last time they would do this was. It was all in Isco’s hands now. The ball was in Isco’s court.

And what worried Franco the most was that he knew all the different ways Isco could possibly play it, but he wasn’t sure which way he wanted Isco to.

\------

Isco made it into the starting lineup for the Super Cup match. So did Franco.

Unfortunately, so did Alvaro.

Well, it was of course much less unfortunate for Alvaro than it was for Isco and Franco. The both of them were just standing in the tunnel, in the middle of their respective lines, almost side by side but not talking at all. Just standing there awkwardly, wondering if it was appropriate to make the first move.

And then came Alvaro, barging his way through everyone until he reached Franco and Isco. He stretched out his arms and gave them a thump each on their backs. Isco jumped, more in shock than anything else; Franco just turned and glared at Alvaro.

“Hello,” Alvaro said cheerfully.

“What the fuck you want?” Franco asked.

“Just saying hello to my friends,” Alvaro said. “My _Frans_ ,” he burst into loud laughter. “I’m funny.”

Isco and Franco just. Just stared at him.

“Fine,” Alvaro rolled his eyes. “Also, I realised you’re wearing the same number. Disgusting.”

“Fuck off,” Franco said. “You say this like you’re not wearing the same number as Paulo.”

So Alvaro shut up and fucked off to the back of the line, leaving Isco and Franco alone again. But Franco didn’t turn back to the front. He stared at the ground to his left, near Isco’s feet. He noticed when Isco continued looking at him, and eventually lifted his gaze slowly to meet Isco’s.

Isco smiled. A tiny upward twitch of his lips, just. Not so much to say hi. Just because the sight of Franco himself made Isco smile. He was briefly worried that after the little weird moment they’d had the previous day in Franco’s room, Franco was going to treat him weirdly too. That little weird moment when Isco almost, _almost_ told Franco that he couldn’t do this with him anymore because it was slowly picking him apart. But the worry turned out to be unwarranted, because Franco smiled right back at him.

And for some reason, that made Isco want to go up to Franco and shove him up against the wall behind him and make sweet, sweet love to him.

He didn’t realise he was still smiling at Franco until Alvaro cupped his hands around his mouth like a loudhailer and yelled, “Old married couple!” from three people behind Isco.

Isco and Franco both turned in sync and glared at Alvaro, and then turned back to each other with tiny smiles on their faces. And then their lines started moving, so Isco told himself he had to get his shit together.

The match went pretty well for a start. Isco set up plenty of good chances. He even almost scored a few times. But Marco scored early, and then the game was just Real Madrid and Sevilla trading chances for the next thirty minutes. Because they played the same position, Isco and Franco never got too close to each other. They usually stayed at least three or four meters apart. They only touched each other a couple of times, once when Isco came charging for the ball and Franco did this action that looked like a weird mating dance to avoid him (which made Isco almost laugh), and another time when Isco accidentally bumped into him.

He made sure, though, that he was always in front of Franco when he had to mark the area. Franco was always behind him. Isco didn’t want any distractions and Franco was the biggest kind there was. Especially so because it was raining and everyone was drenched, _including Franco_ , who had his shirt stick to his front and outline his abs, and it just. It made Isco want to do things to him.

And then right before half time, Franco scored.

Isco swivelled around once the ball hit the back of the net, to avoid Franco’s celebration. To avoid the temptation of running up to Franco and be the only white shirt in their red-shirted celebrations. He raised his head to look at the big stadium screen, though, and saw the virtual version of Franco’s celebration. He saw Franco’s knee slide. He saw that little fucking _smirk_ on Franco’s face like Franco was thinking ‘damn, I fucking scored against Alarcon’ or ‘now I’m going to claim my extra orgasm’ – which Isco wasn’t going to _let him_ _do,_ by the way – and he shook his head helplessly. Franco probably wasn’t even thinking about that. Franco was a pro at compartmentalising. He was even better at it than Isco was. Franco probably wasn’t thinking about anything besides the goal itself.

Isco tried to disguise the smile he knew was on his face as one that was exasperated, instead of one that was just fond at the thought of what was going through Franco’s elated mind right then. He shook his head again. Thankfully, no one pointed anything out.

Two minutes later Isco almost got one in the net himself. It was a pity. If he’d gotten a goal then they’d at least have something legitimate to fight about.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to score right after I score,” Franco yelled as he ran past Isco. “Rude.”

“I’m trying to score _in general_ ,” Isco yelled back, gesturing at the air in front of him.

“This is my time. No stealing.”

“Fuck off, Vazquez,” Isco said, and Franco ran off with a small smile.

In the second half Isco decided to be bolder and charged after Franco to get the ball. He only succeeded in having Franco use his arm to shove Isco in his chest so Isco just. Just bounced off him like a fucking ping-pong ball. A ping-pong ball with all the air knocked out of it. Because that was how Isco felt. Not even just because Franco had physically knocked the air out of Isco’s chest, but. But also just because of Franco.

Isco wasn’t sure what had gotten over him. He was supposed to focus. He’d _always_ been able to focus.

He got subbed out before the game ended and sat down next to Alvaro on the bench with a sigh. Alvaro only afforded him a few seconds to catch his breath before he asked, “So?”

“So what?” Isco asked.

“How’s it like to play against Franco?”

Isco stared at him for a few moments before shrugging. “Normal?”

“You can’t tell me you like him and then say it’s normal trying to beat him.”

“I don’t _like him_ ,” Isco hissed, worried someone would overhear them.

“Okay,” Alvaro said.

They sat in silence for a while.

Honestly, having to pretend to be who he wasn’t was taking its toll on Isco. His filter was on now. He couldn’t smile when he wanted or be happy when he wanted. Not because he didn’t want to, but. But just because he cared too fucking much about Franco. It wasn’t something Isco was used to, both the fondness and the suffocation caused by having to try and filter his behaviour. He wanted to just _be who he was._ Maybe in order to do that again – maybe it was time for him to try and get rid of all the things that were making him spiral down this endless path of unreciprocated feelings.

But if there was one person in the world besides Franco around whom Isco knew he could still just be himself – it was Alvaro. So Isco just took the chance, he took the chance to hit two birds with one stone, to release his frustrations and make Alvaro shut up at the same time.

“You know in the first half when the referee blew his whistle for a handball by Franco?” he asked.

“Yeah?” Alvaro said. He seemed a little confused, which, well. Worked just fine for Isco.

“I’d blow him for a handball, too,” Isco said. “If you know what I mean.”

Alvaro turned and stared at Isco. He just stared for like, ten whole seconds. And then he did this very exaggerated grimace. “What the fuck, Isco!”

“Isn’t it funny?” Isco burst into laughter. “I thought of it just now. Like. Handball. Hand to ball–“

“Jesus, fuck, I don’t need you to explain it to me!” Alvaro exclaimed.

Isco continued laughing. It was actually pretty therapeutic. He curled up on himself as Alvaro leaned over and started pinching him, bottom lip bitten in concentration. “Fuck you, stop it, you know you’d blow Paulo for a handball, too.”

“I’m not going to talk about that!”

“What if one day we have to play against Juventus again?” Isco asked.

Alvaro stopped pinching Isco and retreated to his own seat. “Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

“But it’s different. You and Paulo are a thing. Paulo…Paulo loves you back.”

Alvaro nodded, and then gave Isco a tiny sad smile. He gave Isco’s beard a hard tug. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Nah, it’s whatever.”

“It’s just,” Alvaro said. “Just that…you’ve become more uptight since summer. You know? You used to be so happy and carefree. But now you’re just, I don’t know. Just more closed up.”

“I’m sorry, Alvaro. There are some things I just – I just feel like I’m not allowed to feel.”

“No, it’s not that, don’t be sorry. I just. I don’t know how to say it. But you’ve been there for me all this while and now I just want you to know that I’ll be here for you, okay? I know…that it hurts. But you don’t have to keep it all to yourself. Because you never have and you shouldn’t start. Okay?”

Isco nodded and smiled. Alvaro left it. They both turned back to watch the game. They were still watching quietly when a couple minutes later Sevilla won and converted a penalty, giving them a 2-1 lead.

“It’s hard,” Isco finally spoke, trying to stop his voice from trembling. “It’s difficult. Playing against Franco. Because…because I want him to be happy, but at the same time I want to win this cup. And he’s happy now. His team is leading. But that means we’re losing. And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. I feel happy, but I also feel sad. I know I’m not supposed to feel happy, but I do, and I can’t stop it, and it’s hard because it’s tugging at me from both sides. And for your sake, Alvaro, I hope we never play Juventus.”

Alvaro smiled wistfully straight out at the pitch. He gave Isco’s forearm two hard pats. “Thanks, Isco.”

Isco nodded. He gulped down the lump in his throat. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted on that fucking bench but he _couldn’t fucking cry._

“This is all I’m going to talk about it, okay?” he whispered. “I know it’s not like me to not want to talk about things. But this is something I just. I don’t want to talk about with anyone.”

“Okay,” Alvaro said.

Fortunately, Real Madrid won the cup with a late goal from Sergio and another from Dani in extra time. Isco completely forgot about all his worries as he got his medal and cup and celebrated on the podium. He ignored the heat on the side of his body facing the pitch, knowing that maybe Franco was down there watching. He poured his heart out into the celebration. This was a big achievement. It may not seem big to some people, but it was for him. He used it to forget all the things he did not want to think about.

They spent hours in the dressing room celebrating and taking photos. And they got a little drunk from champagne. Isco didn’t really remember how much he drank. He just remembered reaching the hotel a little woozy, downing an entire bottle of drinking water, and then standing in the shower for half an hour because he was too lazy to get out.

And then he got out of shower and into bed. He got his phone and checked it, and he’d posted a photo earlier of him and Alvaro and the cup, so he read through some of the comments for that. He checked his other notifications and saw a text from Franco.

 _You up?_ sent ten minutes ago.

It sent an immediate, overwhelming, vision-blurring blast of wind right through the core of Isco’s heart. He wasn’t sure if it was just augmented because he was still a little drunk, or if it had just caught him off guard. Whatever it was, it slammed into him with an almost audible ‘wham’ and Isco suddenly couldn’t breathe.

But because of this, because of this knife that had appeared out of nowhere and lodged itself in Isco’s chest – Isco knew what he had to do. He knew what he had to do while he still had this sliver of control. He knew what he had to do in order to give both he and Franco what they both wanted – Isco to lose his vulnerability, and Franco to get back his control.

So he got up and took the elevator to Franco’s floor. He walked and stopped outside Franco’s room. 1722. Isco remembered.

He gave the door two hard knocks.

Franco opened it a while later, having not expected Isco to be there at that time. He stood at the door, just staring at Isco. Isco’s heartbeat quickened again. He wanted this to be the last time. He wanted to be free, to get away from Franco so he could be himself again, so he could stop imagining that one day he and Franco would be a couple. Even though he knew anyone would give the world to say that they were fucking their crush. Even though he knew that it was better to be friends with his crush than to be nothing at all. Despite all of this, Isco knew it was better for both of them that they were apart. Because after that day, after all the thoughts that had forced their way through Isco’s mind before and during the Super Cup match – Isco knew this was going to be the only choice he could make in order to stop himself from ruining his life.

Franco finally spoke after staring at Isco for like, an entire minute. “So, you pee in the cup yet?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Seems like something you’d do.”

“Well, I didn’t. It’s disgusting.”

“ _You’re_ disgusting.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re disgusting. Don’t think just because you scored a goal you can be a fucking snob.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a goal to talk about.”

“I almost did, though.”

“But you _don’t_.”

“You almost killed me, by the way. You slapped me so hard in my chest. My heart almost stopped beating.”

“But it _didn’t_.”

“Shut the fuck up. Proud little fuck. I saw your stupid smirk.”

“Yeah? Wanna know what I was thinking about?”

“What?”

A cheeky smile spread its way slowly across Franco’s face. “How I’m gonna get to come first tonight.”

Isco’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at Franco, not willing to be the first one to give in. Not willing to be the first one whose gaze faltered. Because if he was going to hand the control, hand the reins back to Franco, then this was his last chance to hold them. So the both of them just stood there, either side of the doorway, violently holding each other’s gaze and trying to catch their breaths after their routine nice-to-see-you-again argument.

And then Franco lunged over, rugby style, and lifted Isco by his hips, waiting for Isco’s legs to automatically wrap around Franco’s waist. He pushed the door shut and turned around to walk into the room, his face in Isco’s shoulder and Isco’s chin propped up on the top of Franco’s head. Franco’s hair smelled like mint eucalyptus. It was as soft as Isco knew it. As soft as Isco would remember it.

“Traitor,” Isco said, his voice jumping as Franco threw him on the bed. “You just lost the European Super Cup and here you are fucking the enemy.”

“I literally just joined this team. And it’s not illegal to want to have sex to release my frustrations from losing.”

“It kinda is if you’re having sex with the opponent,” Isco pointed out.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Franco breathed directly into Isco’s mouth.

“You’re about to give one now.”

Franco propped himself up on his elbows on both sides of Isco’s head. He stared at Isco for a while, half amused and half just. Just looking really turned on. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“I don’t _think_ I’m smart. I _am_ smart.”

Franco shook his head with a smile. He gave his hips a thrust, rubbing his crotch area against Isco’s. He brushed his lips softly against Isco’s cheek until they were touching Isco’s ear. “I think so, too,” he whispered.

Fuck, Isco was so gone.

He just lay there underneath Franco, letting Franco do whatever the fuck he wanted. He let Franco plant soft kisses all over his jaw and down the front of his neck, to his collarbones, his shoulders. He let Franco’s hands roam wherever they felt like roaming, up Isco’s abdomen to take off his shirt, and then down his left forearm to trace that same vein. He felt Franco’s strong hands firmly guiding Isco’s pants and underwear down his legs. He felt Franco smile against the skin of his abdomen, near his v-line, when Isco gave a little moan.

He remembered everything. Every little movement Franco made. Every flick of his tongue, every caress of his fingers. Every mark his lips made on Isco’s body. He savoured every tiny bit. Gobbled it all up because he knew he might never get the chance again. He made sure every moment was seared into his brain, no matter how much the burning hurt.

Franco didn’t really seem bothered about Isco’s passiveness. He just took control, like he usually did. Like Isco usually let him. Because Isco loved seeing the look of ultimate satisfaction on Franco’s face.

They took it slow this time – or rather, Franco decided to take it slow. He took his time at Isco’s hole, Isco’s fingers gently scraping his scalp to guide him along. He took his time at Isco’s dick, as well, the soft sounds Isco made keeping him on the right track. And then he took his time with his lips pressed on Isco’s, tongue working the inside of Isco’s mouth. It was the best, most satisfying, most moving foreplay Isco had ever experienced.

Franco finally reached for the condom on the bedside table, but didn’t put it on, just sat there in between Isco’s legs and held it in his hands as he stared at Isco.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?” Isco asked. He knew he’d always want to. And it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be mad if Franco turned him on all the way like that and then just left him.

“You…you just, I don’t know. You seem very…quiet. I can’t tell if you want to do this.”

“I just,” Isco whispered, closing his eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t burst into tears or something. He hated that Franco cared so much about him. He hated that Franco was so kind and soft and caring. It was a hole Isco could never stop falling into. “Yeah. I want to. I just. Just do whatever you want to me.”

“You sure?”

Isco nodded. He didn’t open his eyes. He heard the condom wrapper rip, and then Franco hesitantly lowering himself over Isco to kiss him on the lips. He parked himself at Isco’s hole, waiting for Isco to nod again before he slowly pushed himself into Isco.

Isco shuddered as Franco’s lips landed on his neck next. He placed his hands on whichever patch of Franco’s skin they touched first, which happened to be his chest. He slid his palms along Franco’s skin, getting used to the bumps, every contour. He moved them to Franco’s back, arms curling around Franco, pulling Franco against him in a hug.

And Franco let him. Didn’t put up any sort of resistance, just moved his hips to a slow, soothing rhythm, his hands landing on Isco’s thighs to hold them open. They said that practice made perfect. And this was perfect. Their bodies together. It was perfect.

“Open your eyes,” Franco breathed against the corner of Isco’s lips. Isco could feel his beard being ruffled by Franco’s movements. He knew he’d miss this feeling. The feeling of Franco, in general.

He opened his eyes and saw Franco looking at him with the most beautiful dark brown eyes. Isco could look into them forever. He could look into them every day and learn something new, learn something about the starry sky in Franco’s head. He could look into them every day and never get tired.

Franco’s eyes closed briefly as he planted a quick kiss on Isco’s lips. And then his mouth turned upwards in a gentle, nervous smile, like he didn’t exactly get why Isco was so quiet and passive, but he wanted it to go away. He wanted to try and make it go away.

Isco realised that maybe Franco knew. Franco knew something was up. That was why he took his time, because he didn’t want this to end, either.

Isco wasn’t sure if that made him happy or sad.

Or maybe, to Franco, _any_ time could be the last time. Because he’d given the power to Isco. The power to end everything. It was in Isco’s hands, and Franco had no choice but to act like every time was the last time.

Franco thrust a couple more times before nailing Isco’s prostate. Isco’s back arched off the bed, his eyes automatically squeezing themselves shut with ecstasy but opening again a moment later because. Because he wanted to look at Franco. He kept his eyes on Franco’s, mesmerised by them, so thoroughly captivated, so _trapped_ by those magical brown eyes. He followed their every slight movement up and down together with the impact of Franco’s hips. He stared deep into them. If this was the last time he was going to get trapped in these eyes, then he wished it wouldn’t end.

Isco was so close, so _fucking close_ with Franco hitting his prostate every time – but he stopped Franco before he could come. He stopped Franco with two hands pushing on Franco’s shoulders until Franco stopped thrusting. Franco opened his mouth to ask why, but Isco spoke first.

“You get to come first,” he said. “Get out of me.”

Franco smiled, but raised his eyebrows to ask if Isco was sure. Isco shoved him some more until he finally got it and pulled gingerly out of Isco.

Isco pushed him into a sitting position at the foot of the bed and rolled the condom off him. He pressed his open lips against Franco’s, letting Franco french him until the inside of his mouth was flooded. And then he spat it all on Franco’s dick, smearing it over Franco’s length with his hand.

Franco’s hips jerked upwards slightly when Isco’s lips closed around his tip. He was already leaking and salty, and Isco moved to suck on Franco’s balls, just for effect. Franco started making all sorts of arousing sounds, switching between Spanish and Italian swear words. He grabbed a handful of Isco’s hair – see, he could still grab it, what a dramatic piece of shit – and tugged at it until Isco started blowing his dick again.

And Isco just. Just went for it. He knew Franco liked it hard and fast. He bobbed his head up and down quickly, not stopping to take a breath. He unsheathed his teeth a little and ran his front teeth as gently as he could over Franco’s length before sucking him off at his tip. Franco buckled backwards with a loud moan and nearly fell off the foot of the bed. He managed to hang on by almost ripping a handful of hair out of Isco’s head.

Franco came just a few seconds later, violently pulling Isco out of the way as his come landed all over his own sheets. Isco flung Franco’s hands aside and dove in again, catching a few drops of come on his tongue and lips and beard.

“Shit,” he heard Franco say breathlessly. “Alarcon.”

Isco ignored him. He coaxed the rest of Franco’s orgasm out of him with his right hand, catching everything with his mouth. He felt Franco take his free hand, thumb slowly running circles on the back of it before he slid his fingers between Isco’s and gave it a squeeze.

Isco only got himself together enough to look directly at Franco a few long seconds later, after Franco had practically been milked dry. He looked up and easily met Franco’s eyes, so easily that he thought Franco had been staring at him, waiting for him to look. Franco’s eyes were tired but satisfied. Delirious but concerned. Isco gave Franco a tiny smile and a slight tilt of his chin towards his own dick.

Franco let go of Isco’s hand and pushed Isco backwards by the shoulders so he landed on the pillows. Then he dove in on Isco’s dick like a hunter on his prey, his wet lips surrounding Isco’s tip and slowly lowering themselves until they touched Isco’s balls. And then they just. Just stayed there, waiting for Isco to thrust.

So Isco did, meeting Franco’s gaze again as Franco glanced upwards. He thrust his dick into Franco’s welcoming mouth, his balls slapping against Franco’s chin. Franco’s eyes never left his. It made Isco all hot and fuzzy inside, like he was starting to melt. Melt from the heat of those two dark brown gemstones, a colour Isco had seen a million times before but yet only just discovered was his favourite.

Isco did the same as Franco had done; he tugged Franco’s hair until he was out of the way, so Isco’s come wouldn’t land on his face. Franco took the opportunity to catch his breath, but very quickly after closed his mouth over Isco’s dick again, letting Isco come right into his mouth.

Isco shut his eyes. He couldn’t look. Well, _at first_ he couldn’t look. His eyes popped open again, so suddenly and violently they actually hurt – because he _couldn’t miss this_. He couldn’t forget this. He had to remember this feeling.

He gave a sigh once his hips stopped stuttering. Franco licked Isco’s dick dry, and then traced a quick path of kisses up Isco’s abdomen before finally landing on Isco’s lips. He pressed his forehead on Isco’s, mouth falling open a little like he wanted to say something, before he decided against it and shut his mouth again. He got off Isco and lay down on his side of the bed, facing the ceiling.

Isco got under the covers, chest-down because his butt was a little sore. It wasn’t so much because he wanted to stay the night but more because he was suddenly cold. Franco stared at him for a few moments before doing the same, lying on his back instead. Isco stuffed his head face-down into the pillow.

Silence for a long, long while.

“You okay?” Franco finally spoke.

Isco turned his head to his side and saw Franco just staring at him again with a timid look on his face, like he was afraid he’d hurt Isco. Franco reached out with one hand and plucked a little drop of come out of Isco’s beard. The corners of his lips twitched upwards hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Isco said.

Silence again. Not comfortable. Just really awkward. Isco realised that he’d come to Franco’s room knowing what he wanted to do but having no sort of battle plan whatsoever. Ironically, if Franco hadn’t been the target, he would’ve scoffed at Isco’s unpreparedness.

“Congrats on the cup,” Franco said.

“Thanks,” Isco replied. “Congrats on your goal.”

“This is the worst kind of match. I don’t know if I’m supposed to celebrate or not.”

“Yeah,” Isco laughed softly. “Yeah, I get that.”

“This was nice, though.”

“Mmhmm,” Isco said. “We’re like Pavlov’s dogs.”

“Hmm?”

“Pavlov’s dogs. You know, that experiment on conditioning. He made them salivate every time a bell rang by coupling the bell with food. So over time, the dogs drooled when they heard the bell, even when there’s no food, because they anticipated the food. It’s like us. We get horny whenever we see each other.”

“Yeah?” Franco laughed. “You’re such a nerd. I thought you never paid attention in school.”

“I paid attention to the good stuff.”

Another silence.

“So,” Franco spoke again, and Isco gave an internal sigh. Why couldn’t Franco just shut up? Why couldn’t Franco just be his normal, quiet self and not be so fucking endearing? Why couldn’t Franco stop trying to do what Isco liked, trying to speak more so Isco didn’t have to bear the full responsibility of filling the silences? Why couldn’t Franco just stop, stop understanding and reading Isco so fucking well so it would be easier for Isco to pretend that he wasn’t falling deeper for Franco every time he saw Franco? “Junior’s birthday party. When is it?”

“Fourteenth,” Isco said. He’d mentioned it to Franco earlier. Told Franco he was invited. In hindsight, that might have been a bad idea. “His birthday is on the sixteenth. I have training on the fifteenth and a match on the sixteenth.”

Franco went quiet for a while, then, “Okay, I can make it. I’m travelling to Barcelona on the sixteenth, too.”

“Okay, great.”

“Is it in Madrid or Málaga?”

“Madrid,” Isco said.

“Okay.”

Silence again. It was tearing Isco apart.

“Franco,” he finally said. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?” Franco asked. He sounded concerned.

Isco suddenly didn’t know what to say. Like before, no battle plan. So he just lay there and stared at Franco as he thought of what to say. Franco stared back, confused, wondering what the fuck was up.

Well, until he completely shocked Isco out of his skin when he asked, “Does it have something to do with you kissing me on the cheek and calling me Franny?”

“How did you know that?” Isco managed to squeak.

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Fuck,” Isco whispered, shutting his eyes.

“Did you do it because…because you like me?”

Isco sighed. He suddenly had a million things to say to Franco but no way to put them into words. It was the strangest fucking feeling, because Isco had _never_ had trouble with words. He was basically the most talkative guy on the planet. He found strength, control, and clarity by speaking about his troubles out loud. But now he had a million things to say and no words to say them in.

He wanted to tell Franco that he was sorry. He wanted to tell Franco that he’d thought he could do this, but he had been wrong. He wanted to tell Franco that he’d tried, he’d tried so fucking hard to draw the same line that Franco did, but he had ultimately failed. He wanted to tell Franco he was sorry for disappointing Franco. He wanted to tell Franco that he was ending this not because Franco did anything wrong, but because Isco was afraid he would do something wrong himself, that he would ruin both their lives. He wanted to tell Franco he wasn’t sure these feelings would ever go away. He wanted to tell Franco that as much as it hurt right then, Isco had never, ever once regretted any single moment of the past three and a half months. He wanted to tell Franco that Franco was so fucking beautiful that words would not do him justice, that all the stars in the entire universe could not hold a candle to him.

So he summarized all of that into one word.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Franco remained silent. Isco didn’t dare to open his eyes.

“You like me?” Franco finally asked again, but he didn’t sound like he was arguing. In fact, he sounded fucking _terrified_.

Isco nodded. He couldn’t do anything at that point, honestly. He could just nod.

“I thought you weren’t into men.”

“I wasn’t,” Isco whispered. He remembered telling Alvaro that he didn’t want to talk about this, but. But he suddenly _did._ Maybe it was because he was still a little drunk. But maybe because it was Franco. And Isco had never felt uncomfortable talking to Franco about _anything_. This wasn’t going to be any different. “I wasn’t, Vazquez. I wasn’t until you came along. I never imagined myself in a relationship with another man. Never. But you…you are the first man that I’ve ever imagined myself in a relationship with.”

“Isco,” Franco whispered back. He sounded. He sounded frantic.

“I know. I know you can’t give it to me.”

“I –“ Franco sighed. “I don’t know how to.”

“I know. I’m not asking you to.”

“So…so what now?”

“I just,” Isco said softly. “I can’t imagine…having all this good sex, having the fucking time of my life, enjoying spending time with you, and – and not falling, not feeling anything romantic towards you. I can’t imagine that.”

An extremely long and painful silence from Franco. So long and painful that Isco had to open his eyes to see what was going on.

Franco was just staring at him, his eyes shimmering for some reason. He was just staring. He lifted a hand and placed it warmly on Isco’s cheek, but removed it a second later.

“Maybe you have to try,” Franco whispered. Followed by a silent _‘because I can.’_ Isco heard it. Franco didn’t say it, but Isco heard it.

Isco’s eyes fell shut again, a reflex for when he was about to cry but didn’t want anyone to see. He turned his head the other way, towards the bedside table. He nodded.

The rejection didn’t feel so much a slap in the face as it did a stab in the heart. It wasn’t superficial. Isco wasn’t upset because it was a dart to his ego balloon but because he knew that he felt deeply enough for Franco to really, truly not blame him. He wasn’t upset because he felt unwanted, but because he knew that it was a mistake to have wished to be wanted in the first place. He wasn’t upset that Franco literally only wanted him for the sex, but because this entire relationship had been based on the fact that _they had only wanted each other for the sex_ , and Isco had gone and fucked it up.

He wasn’t upset because he knew Franco wasn’t implying that Isco hadn’t tried; he was trying to let Isco down in the gentlest way possible. He was setting a bed of feathers for Isco to fall into.

Isco knew with some part deep inside of him that he was probably supposed to be mad. But he _wasn’t_. He didn’t feel calm, either. He just felt a little. A little stuck. Isco couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Franco, even though he knew it was probably healthier if he had been. Then at least all his emotions wouldn’t be trapped inside him.

“I can’t do this,” Isco finally said, after fifteen whole minutes of complete silence according to the bedside clock, which read 1:37.

Silence from Franco. Isco thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. But he knew now that Franco didn’t fall asleep so easily. He’d learned the hard way.

Isco sat up and put his feet on the ground. He reached for his clothes, which were sitting in a neat pile on the floor. He put on his underwear and his pants. He picked up his shirt and turned it the right side out.

“Alarcon,” Franco finally called from behind him. “Is this the last time?”

Isco turned his head, but not fully enough to look Franco in the eye. Just enough to see Franco in the corner of his vision.

Isco gave a slight dip of the head, which was all the nodding he could afford right then, knowing that it was this very moment in which he transferred all the control back to Franco. He felt it physically leave his body.

Strangely, he felt heavier without it.

He stood up, clutching his t-shirt to his chest. Tears were at the edges of his eyes, about to fall. He couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t turn around. He couldn’t cry until he was alone.

So he hurried to the door, opened it, and stepped outside, pulling it shut behind him.

He stood with his back against the wall next to the door, his head leaning against the 1722 number plate. He felt the tears start to roll down his cheeks and blur his vision. He slid his arms into his shirt sleeves.

And he heard Franco’s footsteps making their way towards the door.

So he ran.

He ran, half-naked and arms tangled in his shirt, to the nearest exit sign, and pushed the door to the stairwell open. He had the state of mind to close it gently, so Franco wouldn’t hear it. He pressed his ear to it, though, and heard Franco’s door open down the hall. But the footsteps didn’t become louder, like Franco was just standing at his door and looking out.

A minute later, the door shut.

Isco sat down on the topmost step of the flight of stairs. He started to sob audibly, his hands still blindly fumbling with his shirt until he managed to stick his head through the collar. He tried to stop, tried to wipe his tears with his hands, but it didn’t help. So he sat there on the top step hugging his knees to his chest and bawling his fucking eyes out. It was just as well, because Isco felt like. Like he didn’t _feel_ anything. So crying was legitimately the only way out.

His embarrassing sobbing bounced off the walls of the stairwell. It sounded haunting. Normally Isco would have laughed at the thought of someone being scared of these ghostly noises he was making. But not on that day. He had no one to laugh with. Not anymore.

This was supposed to be a happy day. Isco had just won his first trophy of the season. It was supposed to be a day of celebration. But it had also been a day of discovery for Isco. A day of realising exactly what he wanted from Franco, and a day of realising that he wasn’t going to get it. A day of realising that he was probably better off distancing himself enough from Franco that he would never make the mistake of wanting it again.

Isco briefly thought if he had been too impulsive. After all, the initial flickers of his realisation, up until the moment he told Franco – it had only spanned at most three weeks.

But then again, three weeks was a long time. Three weeks of fluctuating between living with it and abandoning it. Three weeks of trying to decide if he wanted physical pleasure and emotional pain, or physical depravity and emotional freedom. Three weeks of changing his mind over and over again about which one he would rather have. Three weeks of absolute torture.

So Isco didn’t regret it. He didn’t regret coming clean. Somewhere else, in another universe, Isco hadn’t come clean. That Isco was still laughing in bed with Franco. This Isco gave him a mental pat on the back. This Isco gave him the mental permission to live out the life Isco wasn’t strong enough to live in this universe. A life of being close, but not close enough to touch.

Isco couldn’t move from where he was. He tried, bless his soul, he tried to get up and go back to his room, but his legs were so fucking heavy and he wasn’t sure if it was just his tears but the stairwell was getting darker and darker. And Isco just felt like. Like he was floating. Floating in a dark abyss. He couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t really see or hear anything. He was just. Barely existing.

Maybe this was how life was going to be like without Franco. Maybe Isco just had to get used to it again.

Isco suddenly couldn’t remember what his life had been like before he’d met Franco for the third time in April. How was he going to return to living a life he didn’t even remember?

Isco sighed. He closed his eyes. He imagined himself in a spaceship, flying away from Earth, flying out into the stars billions of light-years away. It was impossible, but if Isco had learned anything about this whole fiasco, it was that in his mind, anything was possible. His mind was his own mini universe.

So in his mind he lived out the perfect life. In his mind he flew out between stars, between galaxies, away from all his troubles here on sad old Earth. In his mind, he tried to be happy.


	15. I Want To Love You But I Don't Know How

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Neptune by Sleeping At Last.

Isco was suddenly jolted back into reality by a buzzing sound coming from his pocket.

He retrieved his phone from it. It had been inactive since the last time Isco had touched it, which was, well. Which was when he’d seen Franco’s message. But anyway.

Alvaro’s name flashed on the screen. Isco took the call with trembling fingers and only barely managed to hold the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Where the fuck are you?” Alvaro asked, and. That was a good question. Where the fuck was Isco?

“Uh, I’m,” Isco stammered. “Uh, why?”

“I’m standing outside your room. I’ve been knocking for the past ten minutes. Everyone’s up and getting ready, we have to leave for the airport soon. It’s fucking seven am, Isco. Where are you? Are you with Franco?”

“No,” Isco said shakily. “I’m…I –“

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, no, shit,” Isco suddenly burst into tears again. He was in the _stairwell._ He was sitting in a fucking stairwell and he’d been sitting there for the past five hours. “I – Alvaro. Fuck.”

Alvaro paused in shock. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Can you come get me?” Isco sobbed. He was _shaking_. He was having a complete fucking breakdown. “Shit. Alvaro. Shit.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m – I’m sitting on the stairs.”

“Which floor?”

“Seventeen.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I just,” Isco whispered. “Fuck, Alvaro. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, okay,” Alvaro said gently. “I’m coming right now.”

Then he hung up, and five long minutes later he came bursting into the stairwell.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he panted when he saw Isco sitting there all curled up on himself. “There’s like, five fucking stairwells, holy shit.”

Isco took one look at him and burst into tears again.

“Shit, what happened?” Alvaro asked. He sat down next to Isco and slung an arm over Isco’s shoulders. “Hey, were you drunk or something?”

And oh, Isco wished he could say yes. He wished he had only been too drunk to get back to his own room and instead got stuck at some random stairwell. But he hadn’t been. The previous night was still crystal clear in his mind. He hadn’t flown out on some spaceship. He was still here, in this universe, on this Earth, away from the person who made him the happiest.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he finally managed to say.

Alvaro went quiet. He seemed to know. He seemed to get it instantly. After all, he knew that there was only one thing in this universe that Isco didn’t want to talk about. And that was Franco.

“How long have you been sitting here?” he asked instead. “Since last night?”

“I don’t know, really late last night, yeah.”

“Okay, um. Well. Let’s go, yeah? Let’s go pack. We gotta go. Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I just,” Isco sighed. Part of Isco was worried that if he stepped out of the stairwell he would accidentally bump into Franco again. But part of him legitimately just needed to walk it off. “I gotta walk it off. I have to take the stairs. Alvaro. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Alvaro was kind enough to walk with him. Even though it meant they had to climb four storeys to get to their floor. He held Isco close to him, his arm around Isco’s neck, letting Isco nestle his head in Alvaro’s shoulder. Isco was, honestly, still in a daze. He was vaguely aware he was climbing the stairs. But the combination of heartbreak and lack of sleep and leftover blood alcohol was quite deadly.

“You want to at least tell me what happened?” Alvaro whispered.

Isco shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it. Ever.

Alvaro gave a soft sigh. He wrapped Isco in a huge, comfortable hug right before they exited the stairwell door back to their rooms.

“Don’t let anyone change who you are,” he said, giving Isco a little jiggle. “Okay?”

Isco nodded. He nodded even though he honestly didn’t know who he was anymore.

\------

Franco wasn’t going to admit that he’d completely freaked out.

He’d put on his clothes and ran to the door once he’d gathered his bearings enough, but Isco had already disappeared. He’d grabbed his keycard and phone and some money and went outside. He’d scoured the entire seventeenth floor corridor but found no one. He didn’t know which fucking floor the Madrid players were on, but he’d searched every floor from the twelfth to the twentieth and found no one. He even went to the hotel lobby and freaked out on the poor receptionist and security guard, but they told him no one saw Isco leave the hotel. He probably looked like a fucking maniac to them, a maniac in pyjamas chasing after a football player. He hoped they didn’t recognise him as Franco Vazquez and tell the world that Sevilla had signed a lunatic.

He’d thought of contacting Alvaro, but he didn’t know if that was appropriate. He’d thought of contacting Isco himself, but. But that didn’t seem like a reasonable choice, because he’d probably get ignored anyway. But he desperately wanted to talk to Isco. He wanted to tell Isco to give him some space, to give him some time to figure all this shit out. He wanted to tell Isco that he was struggling with these exact same things Isco was. Because Franco. Franco had _lost it_. He had completely lost himself and he had completely misread Isco’s intentions but he was going to figure it out, Franco _swore_ he was going to figure it out. He just needed some time.

Franco didn’t get any sleep. He just paced around his room randomly the entire night. He got to the lobby at eight thirty in the morning to catch the team bus to the airport and heard from the staff that Real Madrid had left earlier, at half-past seven.

 _Is he with you?_ Franco eventually texted Alvaro after like, a full hour of hesitation.

 _No, we’re leaving him in Norway,_ Alvaro replied, followed by the eyeroll emoji, and then, _Yeah, he is. We’re at the airport._

_Is he okay?_

_Yeah._

_Tell him I’m sorry._

_He won’t talk to me. I’m just going to leave him alone._

It broke Franco’s heart. Isco was supposed to be happy. He was supposed to be _happy_.

He opened his text conversation with Isco. _You up?_ was the last message, with its accompanying two blue ticks. He started to type, but then backspaced everything because he wasn’t even sure if he was making any sense. Instead, he tapped the call icon.

He held the phone hesitantly to his ear as the call went through. It rang three times.

And then it stopped. _Call ended_ , the screen read.

Isco had hung up on him.

Franco leaned his head back on the bus seat. His clothes suddenly felt suffocating. He felt trapped in them. He felt warm and uncomfortable and he mentally struggled against these constraints. He knew, he _knew_ that it wasn’t anything more than Isco needing some time away, just like Franco did. He knew. But he didn’t want to accept it.

 _Where was he yesterday?_ he asked Alvaro. _Do you know?_

_In the stairwell. 17 th floor._

Franco froze. Isco had been _right there_. But Franco had missed him. Franco had run all around the seventeenth floor and eventually ran upstairs and downstairs via the stairwell at the end of the corridor. And he had completely fucking missed Isco.

God, maybe this was fate.

 _I tried looking for him_ , he told Alvaro. _I tried everywhere. I couldn’t find him._

_Yeah. There are like five different stairwells. I got lost while looking for him, too._

Franco sighed. He put his phone away and shut his eyes. He didn’t open them until they got to the airport, and even then he only opened them long enough to check in and pass all the security checks. He closed his eyes again when he got on the plane. He was tired as fuck. He’d just lost his debut match, a European cup game in which he’d played the entire hundred and twenty minutes. He hadn’t slept a wink. Franco was thoroughly exhausted, physically and mentally.

Franco slept on the plane from Trondheim. On the transferring flight. He slept on the train from Madrid to Seville, suddenly realising how thankful he was that they didn’t put both teams on the same fucking plane. He slept literally all the way back home. He didn’t care anymore. He could wake up with rashes on his face. He didn’t care.

He stumbled into his apartment and immediately collapsed on the couch. He took out his phone and saw a message from Alvaro, sent two hours ago.

_You know he likes you, right?_

Franco unzipped his luggage, found a t-shirt, wrapped his phone in it, and flung it as hard as he could across the living room. He heard it land with a thud somewhere in the back, near the entrance to his room. Franco had always had the habit of destroying his own things when he was mad. It scared him sometimes. It scared his family, too, with all the destroyed Lego sculptures they’d had to witness.

It didn’t scare him on that day, though. On that day he thought if he had the strength he would rip his entire apartment up from the ground and fling it across the country and just lie in the ruins afterwards. Or maybe he didn’t have to do it on his own. Maybe his entire building could be torn apart by a tornado and he’d still just not move. Because there was no meaning to anything anymore.

\------

Junior’s birthday party was going to be a really small one. It was just Isco’s family, Junior’s mom Sonia and her family, some of their friends, and some of Isco’s Real Madrid teammates who weren’t going to Toni’s son Leon’s huge first birthday party; well, Isco had invited them, but after all Leon’s was bigger and Isco told everyone to go there instead. Everyone except Alvaro, who insisted he wanted to be at Junior’s.

And Franco, of course.

Isco sat down with Junior a couple of days before the party with the finalised guest list. It consisted of only about fifteen people. He read all their names to Junior and showed him pictures so he’d know who was coming. Well, sort of. To the best of his tiny baby abilities.

He got to Franco’s name at the very end of the list. He read it out to Junior. He tried to find a photo in his phone, but it turned out that he didn’t need to, because Junior recognised that name immediately.

“Vazquez!” he squealed, clapping his hands loudly.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “You like that he’s coming?”

“Vazquez coming?” Junior asked.

Isco turned to him. He actually. Actually didn’t know if Franco was coming. They hadn’t spoken since that night, which also happened to be the last time the party was brought up. He used his thumb to trace the bottom of Junior’s eye as he tried to think of a reply.

Evidently that showed on Isco’s face, because Junior’s expression changed, his lips turning downward and his eyes drooping like he was sad. “Vazquez not coming?” he asked.

“Do you want him to come?” Isco asked. He felt like he had to hide his facial expression from Junior, so he pressed his nose into Junior’s baby powder-scented hair. “Hmm?”

“I want Vazquez,” Junior replied, reaching for the sheet of paper and placing his tiny hand on Franco’s name.

Isco set him down on the ground, where his toys were. He watched for a while as Junior started to be distracted by them. Then he took his phone and sat down next to Junior.

 _Are you still coming to Junior’s party?_ he typed to Franco. He hesitated for an entire five minutes before hitting send.

The reply came a couple of minutes later. _Am I still invited?_

Isco swallowed the lump in his throat. If it had been up to him, he would have probably said no. Not because he didn’t want to see Franco – because fuck, _he wanted to see Franco_ – but because he knew it was going to hurt to see Franco. Anyway, it wasn’t up to him. Junior was the one turning two.

_Yeah, the kid is innocent. And he specifically asked for you._

He watched the top bar alternate between _typing…_ and _online_ again.

And then, _Ok, I’ll be there._

Isco put his phone aside. He grabbed Junior again and put Junior on his lap. “Vazquez is gonna come to your party, baby,” he told Junior.

Junior started clapping happily and Isco immediately knew it was the right decision. Junior was Isco’s everything. He was Isco’s life. Isco would walk through a fire just for Junior. Having to see Franco for a few hours for Junior – it was nothing. Isco was going to survive.

\------

Junior’s party started in the morning, so Isco’s family, Sonia, and Sonia’s family arrived in Madrid the day before. They came to see Junior and help prepare the place, and then everyone returned to their hotel except Sonia, who stayed in Junior’s room. Everyone else came back the next day with a cake shaped like the number 2.

Franco was the very last of the guests to arrive. He didn’t text Isco beforehand, just arrived at the door and knocked on it for a really long time before Isco noticed and opened it, because he was afraid to disturb everyone by ringing the doorbell. He didn’t tell Isco that. But Isco knew him well enough.

Anyway, he was wearing one of those white sweaters he had, and black ripped jeans. His hair was a little messy and he was carrying a small duffel, meaning he’d only just arrived in Madrid and had come straight to Isco’s house. He was holding a small colourful paper bag with the words ‘happy birthday’ on it in glittery blue font. His eager gaze flicked from Isco to Junior as his lips curved up in a smile.

He looked beautiful.

“Hi,” he said softly as Isco just stood there, dumbstruck, Junior sitting obediently in his arms. He tried passing the paper bag to Isco, and Isco wanted to tell him to put it on the gift table, but Junior had already grabbed it with eager hands so Isco was like, whatever. “Hey. Happy birthday.”

“Say thank you,” Isco told Junior. Junior yelled it at Franco, which made Franco’s smile grow.

“So, um…” Franco started. And then didn’t continue, because he didn’t have anything to say. He just stood there awkwardly with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Just…hang around,” Isco shrugged. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna take Junior?” Isco asked, because, well. Franco literally only knew four people at the party, and Isco was sure he didn’t want to hang out with Alvaro or Antonio or Isco.

“Can I?”

“Sure. You can open the present with him.”

So Franco put his bag down and took Junior. A very loud, eager, screaming Junior. He was just screaming ‘Vazquez’ over and over again. He seriously needed to learn some new words. Isco had started to walk away when Franco called, “Hey. Stay with us.”

Isco wanted to say no. He wanted to say that Franco’s close proximity made him want to set himself on fire. That Franco’s close proximity just might set Isco on fire by itself. He wanted to be as far away from Franco as physically possible in this apartment.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he nodded and followed Franco as he took Junior to his little playpen. They passed a very surprised and nosy-looking Alvaro, but Isco shook his head at him so he wouldn’t butt his face in. This was between Isco and Franco. Isco didn’t want to drag anyone else into it.

He sat down next to Franco as he put Junior down. Junior continued fiddling with the paper bag, like he wanted to open his present. He even looked at Isco with his puppy eyes to see if Isco would let him. Isco eventually gave in and told him to open it.

It was a pair of tiny baby shoes, light grey and spotted, with red trimming and a maroon coloured Nike logo. The words ‘Isco Jr.’ were embroidered on the top of each shoe, on the Velcro straps.

Isco smiled. He’d gotten shoes like that for Junior before, of course, but Junior had outgrown them and Isco had just settled on getting him generic shoes instead of personalised ones. But he was touched that Franco thought of it.

“I didn’t know if he had any, so, uh,” Franco shrugged.

“He outgrew them,” Isco said. “Thanks.”

Franco smiled at the ground. “Yeah, I was worried someone else got the same gift.”

“Everyone got him toys. This is the first functional gift he’s gotten.”

Franco’s smile grew, but it was directed at Junior instead of Isco. Isco wasn’t surprised. Franco probably felt weird being so close to Isco, too, after knowing Isco felt the way he did.

Junior wouldn’t stop fiddling with the shoes, so Franco put him on his lap and helped him put them on. His gigantic hands worked seamlessly with Junior’s tiny ones. And the shoes fit nicely. Franco gave Junior’s feet a soft pat when he was done, before putting one hand below them and lifting them slightly so Junior could admire them.

“You like them?” he asked Junior.

“Yeah!” Junior said.

“Okay,” Franco gave a soft chuckle. He pressed his lips softly on Junior’s temple. “Happy birthday.”

Junior stood up on his own and gave a few jumps, like he was testing the shoes out. And then he turned to Franco and just collapsed into Franco’s arms, giggly face pressed into Franco’s chest. “Thank you, Vazquez,” he said fondly as Franco’s arms curled around him.

“You’re very welcome,” Franco said, but Junior slid out of his hug and ran away in the middle of that sentence, weaving his way through the adults’ legs and eventually finding Sonia. He could run pretty quickly, the little gnome. Much more quickly than the last time Franco had been around.

That left Franco and Isco alone.

They sat in silence for a while, not knowing how to start. How to pick up from where they’d left off. Isco almost stood up and tried to escape, but Franco suddenly started speaking.

“So, um. That’s Junior’s mom?” he gestured towards the general direction of Sonia.

“Yeah.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” Isco said again, smiling.

“Junior got all his genes from her. It’s no wonder he’s so cute.”

A long pause after Franco said that, and Isco turned his gaze up to see Franco peering nervously at him, like he was afraid Isco wouldn’t laugh at his joke. But of course Isco did. He felt a smile grow on his face until it became an audible laugh.

“Fuck you,” he punched Franco in the shoulder. “I contributed to that, too.”

Franco burst into laughter and Isco felt this rush of relief. This feeling that. That everything seemed normal again. “Well, she obviously did all the work.”

“Fuck you,” Isco said again.

Then they just sat there, smiling stupidly at each other, like they had tons to tell each other but didn’t know how to. Isco didn’t even know _what_ exactly he wanted to tell Franco. He just wanted to talk to Franco. He wanted to listen to Franco talk to him. About the universe. About the galaxies. About how in an alternate universe, maybe they played for the same team. In an alternate universe, Franco loved him back.

“Do you wanna get back to your guests?” Franco asked, snapping Isco out of his daze.

“Uh,” Isco said lamely. “What about you?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Franco said, slowly and softly, like there was a double meaning to that statement. He stood up, and Isco followed him. They stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds before Franco gave another smile and turned to walk away. Isco watched as he slithered over to Alvaro and the both of them just stared at each other silently for a while before realising it would be better if they spoke. It was so fucking typical of Franco to start a conversation like that.

Isco started laughing, and the both of them turned around to glare at him, so he shut up. He saw Junior come running back across the room and crashing into Franco’s legs. He saw Franco bend over fondly and pick him up. He saw Junior happily slap Franco’s cheeks as he sat on Franco’s arm, completely impairing the ability of Franco to hold a proper conversation with Alvaro.

Sonia came and stood next to Isco. “Who’s that?” she asked.

“Franco,” Isco said. “Uh, Alvaro’s boyfriend’s friend.”

“But also your friend?”

“Also my friend, yeah.”

“Junior seems to like him.”

“Yeah, they like each other.”

“And you like him, too.”

Isco turned and stared at her. “What?”

“I was just kidding,” she smiled. “But it looks like you do. I mean, it’s not like you to randomly invite a friend of a friend of a friend to Junior’s party.”

“Well, whatever,” Isco said. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“But do you?” Sonia asked, and well. Isco and Sonia had always been open about this. Their lives were more intricately connected to each other’s than one would expect at first glance. Especially their love lives. “Just tell me the truth. You always have.”

“Just because I invited him to this party, it means I like him?” Isco asked. Although it was the truth, it didn’t seem logical for Sonia to just imply that within the first five minutes of seeing Isco and Franco together.

“No,” Sonia said. “It’s the way you’re looking at him.”

Isco sighed. He turned to Sonia. They’d never talked about this because there had never been other people in their lives ever since Junior was born. “If I got together with someone else, would you be okay with it?”

“Of course I’d be okay with it,” she said. “It’s your life.”

“It’s just, Junior. Yeah.”

“By ‘someone else,’ do you mean Franco?”

Isco didn’t say a word. The both of them just stood there and watched Franco play with Junior in the corner, just the two of them, because after a while even Alvaro got bored and wandered away. Franco put Junior down on the ground at first, but Junior fussed a little and grabbed Franco’s pant legs so Franco picked him up again. Junior’s golden paper crown had fallen on the ground, so Franco picked it up, dusted it off, and put it back on Junior’s head. He brought Junior to the gift table and asked Junior to choose a toy from the opened gifts. Junior chose a toy car. Franco took it and went back to Junior’s little corner and sat down to play with Junior in his lap. He was kind and soft and patient and he kept smiling.

“Look,” Sonia finally said, softly. “I don’t think you have to worry about Junior if the person you’re referring to is Franco.”

Isco smiled. “He’s amazing with Junior, isn’t he?”

“He is, yeah.”

“I don’t have a chance with him.”

“Well,” Sonia gently punched Isco in the shoulder. “You have more of a chance with him than you do with me.”

Isco laughed. That was, well. That wasn’t far from the truth. But that also made Isco ridiculously sad, because he still had zero chance with Franco. It meant he had negative chances with Sonia. It didn’t make him sad because he wanted to be with Sonia or anything, but just. He was just suddenly really lonely.

Both Sonia and Isco realised at the same time that Franco was suddenly brisk-walking towards them with this really excited look on his face. They turned to the front just in time to hear Franco say, “Junior just informed me that there’s a mini bouncy castle in the backyard. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! Rude.”

And then he scurried away eagerly with Junior, pushing the door to the backyard open and beaming at Junior when he saw the tiny bouncy castle and slide that Sonia’s parents had gotten Junior. Isco and Sonia followed them outside and stood watching again as Franco took off Junior’s shoes and placed him inside the castle, urging him to go down the slide. Junior did. Franco caught him at the bottom and made him go again a few times, and soon Junior was a big giggly mess.

“Man, is he taken?” Sonia said. “I’d pay to have a baby daddy like that.”

“Shut up,” Isco said.

“I know, I know, he’s taken by you.”

“No, he doesn’t like women that way.”

“Oh, okay.”

A brief pause.

“You wanna say it’s a shame because girls would snap him up but you’re scared it’ll be offensive, don’t you?” Isco burst into laughter. “Say it. Don’t worry.”

“Shut the fish up, I wasn’t thinking that!”

“You totally were.”

But before they could continue their argument Franco came by again, this time with Junior clinging on desperately to his right calf. He stopped in front of Sonia and Isco and said, “Hey, I’m sorry, I don’t think I said hi to you yet.”

“Yeah, hey,” Sonia beamed at him. “I’m Sonia. Junior’s mom.”

“Franco,” Franco said. He shook Sonia’s hand. And then he picked Junior up and passed him back to Isco. “Sorry for hogging your son.”

“It’s okay,” Sonia said. “Let’s go inside and have some food.”

So they did, they went inside and got the cake out of the fridge and sang a birthday song for Junior. And there was lunch for the adults and some kid food for Junior, but Junior wouldn’t eat unless it was Franco feeding him, so Franco sat on the couch and patiently fed him his tater tots and potato skins and fries. He made Isco and Sonia sit with him, though, so he wouldn’t feel like he was hogging their son again. Weirdo.

Junior was eventually passed back to Isco cautiously after finishing his lunch. Everyone froze for a moment, anticipating Junior to start yelling ‘Vazquez’ and having to be passed back to Franco again. But Junior didn’t. He just leaned his cheek on Isco’s shoulder with this really contented look on his face.

“Oh, thank fu – fish,” Franco said.

“Thank you,” Sonia smiled. She planted a kiss on Junior’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. “I’m gonna go hang out with Alvaro. Never thought I’d say that, but. Yeah.”

And then he left, but not really. He seemed to be everywhere at once. Every time Isco turned around, Franco was there. At the gift table. At the lunch table. At the back window as he looked out at the backyard. Like Franco was intentionally sticking close to Isco.

Like Franco didn’t mind that Isco liked him that way.

Isco wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare to. He was afraid that if he mentioned it another time, he’d screw things up. Besides, the ball was in Franco’s court. It was Franco’s turn to decide what to do. Isco was going to let him.

Nevertheless, as the day passed, Isco was gradually convinced that it hadn’t been the wrong idea to invite Franco to this party. It was nice seeing Franco again. It was like they could try to move past it. At the very least, they were on talking terms.

Isco wasn’t sure if that made him sad or happy.

\------

Franco was the last of the guests to leave, because Sonia had to take the rest back to the hotel and Alvaro had to get home to rest. Junior was already dozing off when everyone left. But it wasn’t like Franco actually had a choice. Junior wouldn’t let him go.

It was dark by the time Junior fell asleep on his shoulder. Franco rocked him a little while longer before he went back into the living room and found Isco.

“He’s asleep,” Franco whispered as Isco took Junior.

“Thanks,” Isco whispered back. He gave Franco a small, shy smile. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

Franco shook his head. It was no trouble at all. Franco had come all the way here to Madrid, in a train that he had to wake up at five am to catch. It wasn’t really to see Junior. It was really to see Isco. Really to tell Isco, once and for all, what this entire thing meant to Franco. Because to be fair, Isco had never given Franco a chance to say anything. He’d run away and hidden and only contacted Franco because Junior had wanted him to. Franco thought he deserved to have a say. Especially since he and Isco were going through the exact same thing.

But he didn’t blame Isco. How could he? Isco thought of Franco as – as, well, whatever Franco had chosen to show him. Isco knew Franco was aromantic. Isco probably thought this was all his own fault, it was all because of him that everything got screwed up. But it _wasn’t_. Franco wanted him to know that. Franco wanted him to know that this entire thing had been screwed up way before Isco had said anything. It had been screwed up in the very instant Franco told Isco his deepest fear. Because that was when Franco had started to fall.

Franco followed Isco into Junior’s room and watched Isco tuck Junior into bed. He saw Isco glance back at him as he hovered too closely, and then smile at the ground when Franco took a step back. He gave Junior a kiss, and then turned around and found himself face to face with Franco.

Franco opened his mouth, deciding that this was the right time for him to say something. Say _anything_. Anything at all.

But he didn’t manage to.

Instead, he found both himself and Isco leaning forward towards each other, like they were being pulled by an invisible force. It was slow and hesitant but it was happening, even though neither of them seemed to understand why. It was so slow it was painful. The both of them just stood there, eyes locked, waiting for it to happen. They both knew it was going to. It was inevitable especially when it came to the both of them. Franco couldn’t stop himself even if he’d wanted to. And he _didn’t want to_.

Franco saw Isco’s eyes flutter shut as their lips met, the feeling so familiar yet so foreign, but one that seemed to quench a thirst Franco wasn’t even aware he had. Franco’s eyes squeezed shut, too, but both their hands easily found each other’s waists even this blindly. They crashed into each other, lips and tongues and abdomens, two bodies combining into one, the soft noises their clothes made sounding like music in the quiet room.

Franco briefly wondered if Isco was sure he wanted this, but his unasked question was answered when Isco started pushing him backwards out of the room, shutting the door quietly before guiding Franco down the hallway to Isco’s room. They stood next to the bed and made out for a while, lips eager and panting, tongues greedy and exploring, hands violently traversing every surface of each other’s body they touched. They didn’t stop, not one second, and Franco was just. He thought, fuck words. This was the only way he knew. This was the only way he had _ever known_ how to show he cared.

He gently set Isco down on the bed, taking the brief window of space to pull of his sweater and jeans. Isco did the same, struggling with his clothes adorably as he remained in his reclined position. He was done earlier than Franco, so he reached out to Franco with grabby hands and didn’t stop until Franco crawled over him.

“Are you sure?” Franco asked, his hands finding their way into Franco’s hair.

Isco’s gaze faltered slightly as it covered Franco’s face. His hands slid their way up Franco’s cheeks and into Franco’s hair. He nodded, his gaze returning to Franco’s eyes and holding them.

Franco closed the gap between their faces and kissed Isco on the lips. He gently pushed Isco’s thighs further apart and settled between them, rubbing their crotches together through their underwear. Isco gave this soft little tortured whimper. “Shit,” he whispered against Franco’s lips. “Franco Vazquez. I’m so fucking attracted to you.”

“Shhh,” Franco breathed, before suddenly realising that Isco might have taken it as Franco not wanting to talk about it. That was the complete opposite of what Franco wanted. So he continued, “I know. I know, and I’m sorry.”

Isco gave this little sigh into Franco’s mouth. He moved his lips to Franco’s neck and his hands to Franco’s dick, retrieving it from Franco’s underwear before using one hand to tug Franco’s underwear down his legs. Franco got out of them himself before dragging Isco’s off, crouching between Isco’s legs and starting to work Isco up by spitting into his hole.

It didn’t take Isco long, honestly, between all the licking and sucking and fingering. Isco was a writhing mess no longer than fifteen minutes later, hands desperately searching for something to grasp. From the headboard behind him to the sheets on either side of him, and finally to Franco’s hair, grabbing hard enough to direct Franco’s lips wherever he wanted them. He pulled Franco all the way up until they were face to face again, and then even further so Franco was sitting on his chest.

A loud surprised gasp escaped Franco when Isco’s lips closed around his tip. He glanced down and saw through the feverish haze Isco with his eyes closed and face scrunched with a look of concentration as Franco thrust weakly into his mouth. He took Franco’s dick out of his mouth for a few seconds to catch his breath, and then went for it again, tongue wet and warm and making Franco’s hips jerk uncontrollably.

Isco opened his eyes and caught Franco staring at him, and normally Franco would have been embarrassed, but. But he wasn’t. Isco looked beautiful. He looked even more beautiful with Franco’s cock in his fucking mouth, but that was another topic. Franco shimmied down Isco’s body again and pressed his lips on Isco’s.

“You’re okay?” Franco whispered as Isco shoved him off gently so he could reach for a condom. “Yeah? Alarcon.”

“Yeah,” Isco said breathlessly. He handed Franco the condom. “C’mon. Put this on.”

So Franco did, obediently, and waited for Isco’s cue again before pushing himself inside Isco. He felt Isco’s back arch upwards as he gasped, his hands clawing at Franco’s shoulders. He took the opportunity to slide his arms around Isco’s waist, scooping Isco off the bed and placing him on Franco’s lap. Isco gave a little whimper as Franco adjusted their positions so Isco was sitting right on Franco’s dick. He wrapped his arms tightly around Isco again, pressing his face into Isco’s shoulder.

Isco’s legs made their way around Franco’s waist, hooking together behind Franco’s back as Franco lifted Isco’s hips a few times. He gave a few little cries into Franco’s ear, alternating between ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’ and other random swear words. Franco held him close, tightly, realising in that instant that he wanted this _exact_ warmth against his body every day. Not just any kind of warmth. Isco’s warmth.

He pulled his head out of Isco’s chest just in time for Isco’s legs to curl into a kneeling position. He started to lift himself off Franco, bouncing up and down on Franco’s dick, and _God_ , Franco was so fucking turned on right then. The sight of Isco, just. Just doing that. The sound of the bed creaking as they fucking sat in the very middle of it fucking each other like they were in some fucking aesthetic sex movie. The little breaths of air Isco robbed from him because of his sheer beauty. Franco was so. He was so fucking _into this_.

In all the mess, all the chaos they were making, in between all their sweaty skin rubbing against each other and their hips straining to get more, straining to hit the perfect spot – Isco took Franco’s face gently in his hands. He seemed to marvel at it for a moment, his eyes dazed and exhausted but still strong and holding. His thumbs moved in soft circles on Franco’s cheeks, the only other sensation Franco could feel besides the feeling of his dick inside Isco. He gazed at Franco for a long while, eyes hesitant and searching, hands slowly wandering upwards and wiping the sweat off Franco’s forehead before moving to hold Franco’s head again like it was the most precious jewel Isco had ever come across.

They stayed like that for a while, Isco looking down and Franco’s head tilted upwards to meet him, not really moving except to gently glide their hips over one another’s. Isco just. Just stared into Franco’s eyes, his eyes two dark yet shimmering gemstones of brown in the dim light of the room. Franco was lost in them. He couldn’t even help himself. He just fell straight into them. It really felt so different after knowing that Isco felt the same way as he did. Like they were connected. Like their minds were connected and Franco had someone _in this with him_. It was an indescribably amazing feeling. Franco had never felt anything remotely close to it.

Isco’s mouth fell open a couple minutes later as he gave a little gasp, a wordless message to Franco that he was close. Franco tore his eyes away from Isco and hugged Isco close to him, only leaving enough space between them for him to jerk Isco off. Isco pressed his face into Franco’s hair, mouthing incoherently into it as Franco tugged at his dick to the same rhythm his hips were stuttering, bouncing against Franco’s.

And then Isco came, suddenly and violently all over Franco’s hand, moaning loudly into Franco’s ear. Franco struggled to thrust a few more times as Isco draped himself over Franco’s shoulder, his moaning now only increasing in volume. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, his lips wet against the back of Franco’s shoulder. His hips gave a few involuntary jerks. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

And shit, that was so fucking hot. Franco hoisted Isco off him as he felt his orgasm start to purge through him. He hurriedly ripped the condom off himself but didn’t get his hand on his dick quickly enough before Isco did it for him, his stubby fingers firmly wrapping themselves around Franco’s length and giving a hard tug.

Franco was a little ashamed to say that that was all it took. That was all it took for Franco to come, with a loud moan himself, lips hastily searching for and finding Isco’s. They sat in the middle of the bed jerking each other off and frenching, now less graceful and aesthetic-sex-movie-ish but more careless and messy and two-desperate-men-jerking-each-other-off-porno-ish. But Franco didn’t give a fuck. Every single time with Isco just got better and better. They just worked so well together. Their bodies fit so well.

They ended up in a panting, sticky heap, draped sloppily over each other, not knowing or caring which of them was holding the other up. Franco lifted Isco’s head off his shoulder and pressed his forehead against Isco’s. He gave Isco a soft, lingering peck on the lips, unsure if this was crossing any imaginary line either of them had put up.

The corners of Isco’s lips turned upwards in a hesitant smile. He turned his gaze downwards, grabbing his t-shirt and wiping both himself and Franco clean. He pulled away from Franco and untangled their legs from each other’s. Then he just sat there, not touching Franco, just kneeling in between Franco’s widespread legs and staring at Franco. He looked. He looked extremely disappointed in himself. And it tore Franco into pieces.

After five whole minutes of tense silence, Isco gave a sigh. Franco saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. And then he said, “See? Pavlov’s dogs.”

Before Franco could even think of a response, Isco got up and picked his underwear and pants off the floor. He started to put them on slowly as Franco frantically thought of what to say. He failed to think of anything before Isco stood up and started walking out of the room.

“Why do you keep running away from me?” was what Franco eventually said, his voice shaky.

Isco stopped in his tracks below the doorway. He just stopped. Franco’s hands balled into fists around the fabric of Isco’s damp shirt. Not because he was angry. But because he felt like he was about to cry.

“I’m not running away from you,” Isco whispered.

“You are,” Franco said quietly. He swallowed his tears. “Please don’t run away from me.”

Isco turned around, face tilted towards the ground so he didn’t have to look at Franco. He walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. He didn’t say a word, like he was waiting for Franco to speak.

Franco moved closer to Isco and took Isco’s hand in his. It was tiny and cute and still a little sweaty. Franco slid his fingers in between Isco’s, revelling again in the feeling of them fitting perfectly together physically. Even their hands did. Like their bodies were two pieces of a jigsaw.

Isco stiffened a little, like he was afraid. Half afraid and half wanting to see how this panned out. Franco felt the same. His heart thumped violently in his chest as he sat there, behind Isco and to his side, afraid to get too close but at the same time not willing to get too far. He said nothing for a while, just sat there naked and holding Isco’s hand.

Franco eventually had to let go of Isco’s hand briefly to put on his underwear and jeans, because Isco was half-dressed and it was awkward as hell. Isco didn’t try to get away again, fortunately. Franco settled down again, this time directly behind Isco. He pressed his chest against Isco’s back, skin to skin, and wrapped his arms around Isco’s waist. He felt Isco stiffen again as he rested his chin on Isco’s shoulder.

“Close your eyes,” Franco whispered. Isco obliged, his eyes darting left and right a couple of times before he shut them. His eyelashes were long and nice and they fanned his cheeks beautifully. Franco was half afraid that Isco could feel Franco’s heart thumping against his back. But he closed his eyes, too, and wrapped his arms more tightly around Isco. He smiled when he felt Isco put his hands on Franco’s forearms, not pushing him away but just. Just holding Franco in place.

Silence for a long, long while. Neither of them moved. Neither of them _dared_ to move.

“This is nice, yeah?” Franco finally asked. Isco nodded. “You like this. I know you like this. I like it, too. But you have to know. Alarcon, you have to know. I can do all this with you. I can hug you tight and hold your hand the way you like. But at the end of the day, this doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I know,” Isco whispered. He tried pushing Franco away, finally, but Franco wouldn’t let him. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” Franco squeezed Isco tightly against him. “Stop it. Let me talk to you.”

Isco sighed. He stopped struggling.

“Just close your eyes and imagine right now,” Franco continued. “I’m holding you. I’m holding you softly and kindly and you like me doing this. I like doing this. But the only difference is, you like me doing it because it means more than just something physical to you. It means something in your head and in your heart. It doesn’t in mine. The output and the input don’t match. Do you see that? Can you imagine us like this, pretending everything is okay, and then at the end of the day, realising that it’s not? It’s going to hurt so much. Knowing that at the end of each day we’re back at square one. I want to do this, Alarcon. Trust me. I want to. But it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you. It’s not fair for you because I’m getting everything that I want from you, but you’re not getting everything you want from me. I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want you to live like that. Okay? Alarcon.”

Isco nodded. So Franco continued.

“I know you think this is your fault. I know you think that you shouldn’t have fallen, you shouldn’t have even thought of it. But it’s not. Alarcon, _this is not your fault_. I’m aromantic, yes. But I don’t go around expecting everyone else to be the same as me. I know, I understand that…that it’s different. We’re wired differently. It’s difficult for you to separate physical attraction and romantic attraction. I know that. So I don’t blame you. Alarcon, I don’t blame you. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Isco nodded again. His shoulders gave a tiny shudder, like he was crying. But Franco didn’t dare to open his eyes to see. He only knew Isco was really crying when he said with the thickest voice imaginable, “Okay, can I go now?”

“No,” Franco said, his heart shattering again at the thought that Isco hated being so close to him. “Alarcon. I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“These feelings you’re feeling,” Franco whispered. “I think I feel them too.”

Isco froze. He literally just froze, his entire body hardening. “What?” he managed to squeak. “You. You just fucking told me that you didn’t. You just. You literally just fucking did.”

“No, hey,” Franco said quickly. “No. I just. Alarcon, you have to understand. I’ve never felt like this. _Never_. Not once in my life. I’m scared, Alarcon. I’m fucking scared. I don’t even know how I truly feel right now. I don’t know if this is real or if I’m imagining this. Because this _isn’t me_. You know this isn’t me. I’m aro. It took me years of pain to figure that out. And now, I’m not? I don’t understand anything right now. I can’t just not be aro like that. I can’t be. It doesn’t just happen like that, with a snap of the fingers.”

Isco shook his head. Some of his tears landed on Franco’s hands. “Is it so difficult to love me?”

“Please don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. It’s difficult for me to love _anyone_ , don’t you see?”

“Why don’t you just stop fighting it?”

“I’m not fighting it,” Franco whispered. “I just. I have to figure this out, Alarcon. I have…I have all these things, all these feelings inside of me, and nowhere to put them. No fucking where. I have to figure out what they all mean, Alarcon, and I have to do it myself. I can’t tell you what they mean right now, and I can’t give you an answer right now. I have to do it myself. I can’t do it with you around.”

“Why not?”

“Because I remember,” Franco’s voice broke at the end of the word. “I remember when I was seventeen, and someone laughed at me because I told him I didn’t like people that way. Someone called me a weirdo because I only liked having sex. I remember when I was eighteen and I saw the word ‘aromantic’ for the first time and I spent a few weeks straight reading everything I could find about it.

“And I remember a few months before I turned twenty, during Christmas, when I was out to a few close friends as gay, and one of them introduced this really cute, really hot guy to me. He was a physics student. He explained to me how stars worked. We hit it off really well. But I wasn’t into him at all. And that was when it clicked, that was when the past three years fell into place. That was the year I finally figured out who I was, that I was aro. It took three years, Alarcon. Three whole years. Three painful years of being mocked and being confused and being alone because no one understood me. Three years of starting over and over again because I couldn’t figure myself out. Three years of hurting everyone I ever even remotely had a chance with. Three years of accepting who I am and in the end rejecting myself again. Over and over again. And now I have to start over. I have to figure it all out from the very start. And I don’t know how long it’s going to take. I don’t want you to be here for this, Alarcon. I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you, and I’m going to hurt myself and I don’t want you to be around to see any of that. The only way I can do this is by myself. I’m not going to let anybody be hurt because of me. Especially not you. I know it hurts right now, Alarcon. But it won’t hurt as much as it will if I let you stay.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Isco started slowly. “You don’t know if you like me.”

“I don’t know anything, Alarcon. I don’t know how I feel. How I’m supposed to feel.”

“So you don’t like me.”

“It not as easy as this. You know that.”

“I know. I don’t understand why I fell for you, either.”

“Will you please, please try not to dwell on this? I can’t promise you anything.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll figure it out. I promise. I will.”

“And you don’t know how long that will take.”

And Franco suddenly saw where Isco was getting with this. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

“But if I want to?”

“Don’t waste your life for me, Alarcon. You are amazing. You are amazing and you have to go out there and find someone as amazing as you are.”

Isco shook his head. “I’ve already found one.”

“Alarcon,” Franco whispered, because he realised, too, that he was crying. _Franco Vazquez_ was _crying_. He tugged at Isco’s legs until they were on the bed and Isco was sitting face to face with Franco. “Don’t do this for me. I’m not worth it.”

Isco smiled sadly. He pressed his head on Franco’s and let his fingers dance in a line down Franco’s cheek. He didn’t say a word, like he’d run out of things to say.

“You are to me,” he finally mouthed.

“Alarcon.”

Isco shook his head again. “It’s okay. I know. I understand. I don’t need you to do anything for me, Vazquez. Just…just live your life as it is. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“It’s not just for you. It’s for me, too.”

“I don’t know how I fell this deep, Franco,” Isco whispered. “I don’t know how.”

“I’m sorry,” Franco breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault, either,” Franco said. “Alarcon. I don’t know how many times I can say this. But it’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t stop me from wondering if I should have ever told you.”

Franco sighed. He closed his eyes although he was aware Isco was still staring intensely at him. “Alarcon,” he said. “Listen to me. You only think it was a bad decision because it turned out like this. But remember there’s a fork for every decision you make. And this arm of the fork just ended up going this way. This arm of the fork ended up…like this, us not being together. Remember the other arm, Alarcon. In the other arm of this fork, in another universe, I said yes. In that universe, we are together. Isco and Franco. We’re together.

“And if you’d never told me – Alarcon, if you had never told me on that night after the Supercup, then this fork wouldn’t exist. That Isco and Franco couple, it wouldn’t exist. There would have been no possibility of Isco and Franco _at all_. The road would have just gone on without splitting into two. So, by telling me…by telling me, you opened up this whole universe where it became _possible_. Do you get that? You made it possible, Alarcon. You added this new fork in our road.”

Isco smiled. “Well, when you put it that way.”

“I will never be as brave as you are.”

“Now this is bordering on sweet talk territory.”

“I’m good at sweet talking, don’t you think?”

Isco’s smile grew. He used his thumbs to wipe Franco’s tears from his cheeks. “Yeah, I think.”

Franco smiled back. He briefly thought of kissing Isco again but wasn’t sure if that was appropriate, so he didn’t. He gently petted Isco’s hair, though. “I should go.”

“You can stay the night.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Sleep on the couch. You don’t have to sleep in my bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Not just for this. For everything else.”

Isco sighed. He removed his forehead from Franco’s. “Can we not be so polite to each other? I feel like everything would be easier if we were rude and sarcastic all the time.”

Franco laughed. “Yeah. Okay. So as usual, then.”

“Yup. As usual.”

And then they sat there and smiled at each other for a while, before Franco finally got up and went to shower in the guest bathroom. He got out to see Isco sitting in Junior’s little corner, packing up his toys and new gifts. Franco sat in the armchair next to him.

“You know, when Junior was born, I had like, this mild beard?” Isco started to say. “Like, it’s not as fully grown as now, but it wasn’t nothing, either. It was kinda like yours.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled.

“Yeah. And Junior, for his first few months, only recognised that version of me. When my beard grew too long, he’d cry because he didn’t know who I was. When it got too short, he’d cry, too. I didn’t know what to do, fuck, I was so fucking confused. Every time I shaved, I had to look at a picture of the both of us in the hospital right after he was born. And I had to do it exactly the same or he’d freak out.”

Franco burst into laughter. He could imagine Isco just having a panic attack in the bathroom trying to shave his beard right for his three-month-old tiny son. “That sounds just like him.”

“Yeah. Moral of the story, be as normal-looking as possible when your child is born.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Isco smiled. “I love him so much. He’s my entire life.”

“I know,” Franco said. “Happy birthday to him.”

“I can’t believe he’s two. That’s two years of me being partnerless. Because of him. But I don’t even mind, shit, I’d live my life as a hermit for Junior.”

“Yeah?” Franco laughed. “Isco Alarcon as a hermit. Impossible.”

“Fuck you,” Isco said, hurling one of Junior’s soft toys at Franco.

Silence for a while.

“Vazquez,” Isco finally said. “Can I say something?”

“Even if I say no, you’ll continue talking, so why not?”

“Fuck you,” Isco said again. “I wanted to say that…thank you. Thank you. For talking to me. For clearing things up. At least…at least now I know where we stand.”

“Mmhmm,” Franco mumbled. “Alarcon. I think part of me…part of me will always be too afraid to get into anything romantic. Until I figure this out, I have no idea what the answer will be. And for now, I just need you to take it as a no. I need you to wipe any possibility out, in this universe. And if I change my mind in the future and you’ve already gone with someone else, then that’s on me. Completely on me. You deserve so much better than me. Okay? Can you try?”

“I will.”

“And I’ll try to figure my shit life out, too.”

“It’s not a shit life,” Isco said. “Well, you have a shit face, but that’s different.”

“Fuck off,” Franco dumped the soft toy back at Isco. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Pfft,” Isco laughed. “I’m not _hurt_.”

“You are, though.”

“I’m not. I’m just a little, I don’t know. A little sad. And horny.”

“True, I forgot those are the only two emotions that exist.”

Isco laughed again. Franco liked hearing him laugh. He’d missed it so much. “Well, I’m glad I can laugh with you again. That I can be myself. It’s been fucking horrible.”

“I think it was the Super Cup,” Franco said. “You know, playing against each other. Feels like we aren’t supposed to be friends. It sort of. Sort of distorts everything.”

“Yeah,” Isco said softly, like he was only talking to himself. “Maybe that’s all there is. It’ll get better.”

"You know, I went looking for you?" Franco asked in a whisper, so softly he could barely hear himself. "After you left that night. I don't want you to think I didn't care. Because I searched the entire fucking place for you, Alarcon. And I couldn't find you."

Isco smiled. He just smiled. He didn't say anything. But that was enough for Franco. Just his smile.

They spent the night in the living room looking through old albums of Isco, Sonia, and Junior. Franco fell asleep sprawled out on the couch, one of the albums clutched to his chest.

He woke up in the middle of the night to see Isco still sitting there in the armchair, hugging an album to himself. Not sleeping. Just watching Franco sleep with this really peaceful look on his face.

Franco could stare at it forever. That peaceful look. Franco wanted to frame it up. He wanted to grab Isco and make Isco squeeze on the couch with him so he could look at it up close.

But instead he closed his eyes and went back to sleep, because if they were both going to try and figure this crap out, then they had to stop relying on each other.


	16. And What Will You Have Left?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so so sorry for the super late update, this week has been hell but I'll be totally free and ready to graduate (lmao hopefully) after my finals on Monday so I'll start to post more regularly again! Thank you all so so much for your patience and all your support, it all means so much to me. Here's a super long chapter as my gift to you hahaha.
> 
> I hope you guys have checked out the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/mandzilkos/playlist/1eyFXj6qVXAK1goeJguv5m)! Please let me know what you think about it :)
> 
> Huge chunk of reference to [chapter 46 of AEIB.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7722889/chapters/21526295)
> 
> Title is from Icarus by Bastille.

The following day was Alvaro’s presentation at the Bernabeu.

Franco left before Isco got up, even though it was still really early in the morning. He left another of his post-it notes on Isco’s bedroom door, with _‘thank you’_ written in his neatest handwriting. Isco went into Junior’s bedroom and saw a similar one stuck on Junior’s cot, reading _‘happy birthday little bean_.’ It made Isco smile.

Paulo popped by about two hours before Alvaro’s presentation to get the key to Alvaro’s apartment. Fortunately, Alvaro hadn’t suspected a thing when Isco had asked him for it. It was probably all the drama that was going on. Anyway, Paulo took it, thanked Isco, and hurried off to see Alvaro. Disgusting lovebirds.

Isco sat next to Junior’s cot until he woke, and then brought him to brush his tiny teeth before making him sit in his baby chair in the kitchen and preparing all the day’s things for Antonio, who was helping to watch Junior when Isco was at training. He showed Junior the post-it Franco had left for him – “Happy birthday little bean? Me? Little bean?” – and sat on the couch with him until Antonio came back after sending their parents to the airport.

Isco slithered out the door quickly before Antonio could grill him about Franco. He’d barely gotten out into the street when Antonio appeared at the window, screaming, “He left you _two love letters_!”

Isco raised his middle finger in the air as he walked away. He didn’t get why everyone wouldn’t just leave it.

He didn’t make it to the event room for Alvaro’s presentation, but met both Alvaro and Paulo outside the locker room as Alvaro was on his way to change out of his new kit.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” was how Alvaro greeted Isco.

“Rude,” Isco said. “I came to see my favourite couple.”

“Isn’t that you and Franco?” Alvaro asked.

Isco glared at him for a moment in surprise. Firstly, he and Franco weren’t a couple. And secondly. Well, there wasn’t even a secondly. That was just it. Alvaro was just trying to nose his way into finding out why Franco was at Junior’s party the previous day. Isco looked around for any cameras and, when he found none, flashed his middle finger in Alvaro’s face.

Paulo started to laugh, and Isco briefly wondered if Paulo knew. If Alvaro had told Paulo. If _Franco_ had told Paulo. He turned to Paulo as Alvaro went inside to change, opening his mouth to say something but closing it again because he couldn’t think of anything. He just stood there at the door with Paulo, facing inside because Paulo was watching Alvaro change – as creepy as that sounded, it was actually pretty cute.

“Hey,” Isco nudged Paulo with his shoulder. “He’s really happy you’re here.”

“Yeah?” Paulo smiled. “I told him a billion times I’d be here.”

“Yeah, but you know him. He won’t believe it until he sees you.”

“Thanks for, you know,” Paulo said softly. “Being here for him. When I can’t be.”

“I kinda don’t have a choice,” Isco laughed. Alvaro was one of his closest friends in the world. The only person who would care about Isco despite not knowing what was happening.

“Neither do I,” Paulo whispered cheekily, and he had this look on his face so playful that Isco couldn’t help but burst into loud laughter, catching the attention of Alvaro.

“I’m very happy to see you, Paulo,” Isco said once Alvaro had gotten back to his clothes. Paulo and Alvaro were like, relationship goals. Isco wished he had something like that to talk about. Something like that to experience. “You two, together. It just. It seems right. It doesn’t seem right to see Alvaro without you. Or you without Alvaro.”

“Thanks,” Paulo smiled. “And thanks for, you know, telling him that we should talk. He told me about that, and I guess…I guess if he hadn’t called, then we’d still be left hanging. Both of us. So, yeah. Thanks, Isco. It means a lot.”

Isco smiled. He suddenly wondered if he could talk to Paulo about it. After all, Paulo was the only one who had gotten close to Franco like Isco had done. And Paulo definitely wasn’t aro. _And_ Paulo hadn’t fallen.

Isco had a feeling that Paulo was the only person in the world who knew Franco as well as Isco did.

He suddenly realised. He realised how brave Paulo had been. How brave Paulo had been to love Alvaro all these years even though he didn’t know if Alvaro loved him back. How patient Paulo had been. How understanding. If Isco was going to get through this whole saga, he only had two choices.

The first was to be how Paulo had been, patiently waiting for Alvaro for six and a half years.

The second was to stop loving Franco completely.

Isco turned to Paulo again, suddenly filled with awe. Paulo had done it. He had _done it_. Paulo was officially the strongest person Isco knew. Isco wanted to ask him. He wanted to ask Paulo how he did it, he wanted Paulo to tell him it was going to be okay. He wanted Paulo to tell him what had kept him going all those years. He wanted to ask Paulo if the feeling of dread that accompanied loving someone who didn’t love you back would ever go away. For some reason, he knew Paulo would understand. Not just because Paulo had gone through this. But also because Paulo could probably tell Isco more about Franco and how Franco probably felt.

Fuck, Isco didn’t even _know_. He realised how little he actually knew Franco. Sure, he knew all the fucking deep stuff. But he didn’t _know Franco_. He knew how Franco would act, he knew how Franco would think. But he didn’t know how Franco would _feel._ And that was the most important.

Isco only realised too late that he had very abruptly wrapped Paulo into a hug. He didn’t have anything to say. Isco Alarcon didn’t have anything to say. He was just. Suddenly just so emotional. About Franco. About Paulo and Alvaro. He felt Paulo hug him back, less of an encouraging hug than it was a grateful hug. But that was all Isco had needed in that moment. To know that in this big, big world, there was this one person who would understand what he was going through.

Because Isco and Franco were opposites. No matter how much Isco liked Franco, he had to admit that they were opposites. And that probably meant that they would never understand each other as deeply as they would have liked.

Alvaro suddenly barged his way in between them and nudged them apart, standing in between them and draping his arms over their shoulders. “Getting a little cozy here, aren’t we?”

Paulo started laughing again. “Fuck you. Jealous fuck.”

Isco rolled his eyes. It was just like Alvaro to act so fucking protective. Isco leaned in and puckered his lips at Alvaro to join in the teasing. “Don’t be jealous, c’mon, gimme a kiss.”

“Fuck off, Francisco,” Alvaro swatted Isco away, but Paulo decided to take Isco’s side by puckering his lips, too. Alvaro gave them both a super disgusted look and then just stood there, helpless, arms crossed over his chest. “Fuck you, is this some dwarf conspiracy?”

“Rude,” Isco said. Paulo and Isco weren’t small. It was Alvaro who was freakishly tall. And then, because he’d only made the detour to the Bernabeu to get away from Antonio but felt like he couldn’t be alone for too long, Isco walked ahead of them back to his own car. “I’m taking my own car so I don’t have to see you two fucking making out.”

Isco got to his car in the parking lot and sat in it for a while. He could hear the world whooshing past him. Like the ocean in his ears. He probably shouldn’t have gotten so fucking emotional earlier.

He got his phone out from his pocket and saw a text. From Franco.

_Tell your asshole friend congratulations._

Isco gave a laugh even though there was no one else around. He’d never understand the thing Franco and Alvaro got going on. For someone who didn’t know better, they would’ve thought Franco and Alvaro were playing hard to get with each other.

_Flirt with him yourself._

_Fuck you. That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard in my life._

Isco laughed again. He leaned back in his car seat and held his phone against his chest. It throbbed together with his violent heartbeat. Isco waited for it to calm down. The wind in his ears slowly subsided to a soft murmur. The world settled around him.

He wasn’t sure how long he just sat there, eyes closed, trying to find his little nook in the fast-moving world again. But when he opened his eyes, Alvaro’s car was already gone.

Isco sighed. He put his phone aside without replying Franco and started to drive to training. He ran into Paulo and Alvaro again on the way, stopped at a traffic light and fucking making out in the front seat. Isco honked at them and made a kissy face in their rearview mirror. Stupid lovebirds, spoiling the lovebird markets for other people.

Isco managed to survive training, somehow. He was half-dazed all the way through and he _hated_ it. He told himself that it was only because the party had been yesterday. He told himself that this would wear off over a few days. Just like how every other trouble had done so for Isco.

He checked his phone after training to see another message from Franco. _Mars will rise nicely on Junior’s birthday tomorrow night, and the night after. You can see it with your eyes._

_Sounds cool. Thanks._

_It’s a little reddish if you see it. Tell me if you do._

_Sure._

And then Alvaro, who’d spent all his time gossiping around with their teammates instead of showering, came and sat next to Isco saying he was ready to go home. And then Isco remembered he’d promised Alvaro a ride because Paulo had taken the car.

“Aren’t you going to shower first?” Isco asked. He was already done showering.

“I’ll shower at home.”

“You can’t get into my car without showering.”

“Why not? I used to.”

“Well, now you _can’t_ ,” Isco said. “Go and shower.”

“No, tell me why I can’t.”

“You just can’t!” Isco yelled, attracting the attention of the people lingering nearby. He lowered his voice. “Just get in the fucking shower, okay? You’re dirty as fuck and you can’t come in my fucking car.”

Alvaro stared at him for a while. Isco distracted himself by taking everything out of his locker and then putting them back inside, all rearranged nicely. Alvaro eventually got bored of his one-sided staring contest and stormed to the shower because it was either Isco or a cab.

Isco sighed. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been so mad. Being a clean freak was Franco’s thing. Not his. He briefly thought of going after Alvaro but realised Alvaro was probably already halfway through his shower. So he just stayed at his locker, putting the rest of his stuff back inside – but not neatly, just throwing stuff around, because he hated to think that Franco held such a huge influence on him.

Alvaro came back ten minutes later and packed his things quietly. He stood next to Isco and stared at Isco until he turned. He raised an eyebrow at Isco, silently asking if they could go now.

Isco got up and walked to the parking lot with Alvaro still completely silent next to him. Isco had never flared up at Alvaro like that. Not even when Alvaro was being a complete asshole.

That had always been Franco’s way of doing things.

Isco sighed. “Sorry,” he said.

Alvaro turned to him, surprised. “Yeah,” he said. “No, yeah.”

Silence remained the third party as they got into the car. Isco started driving with the car stereo playing Coldplay songs at a low volume, a little peace offering to Alvaro.

“That’s not how music works, you know?” Alvaro finally asked. “You gotta play it loud.”

Isco nodded his head at the volume dial. Alvaro cranked it up and the awkwardness retreated in fear.

“You been doing okay?” Alvaro asked.

Isco nodded.

“Yesterday, at the party –“

“Junior wanted him there.”

“Oh,” Alvaro said, slightly surprised at how suddenly Isco had cut him off. “You guys…did you guys talk? Do you still, like, not want to talk about it?”

Isco sighed. They did way more than just talking, but. They’d gotten to a conclusion, so it worked. “Everything’s okay now. It’s just. It’s nothing now.”

“And are you okay with that?”

“I don’t know,” Isco said. “I don’t know, Alvaro. I don’t want to think about how I feel.”

“But that’s the most important of all. How you feel.”

“Yeah, but how I feel depends on how _he_ feels, and –“ Isco sighed again, raising his hands in the air in exasperation before letting them fall on the steering wheel with a thud. “I don’t want to change him, okay? I want him to be happy being who he is. And how I feel for him…for it to work out, it means he has to change. He thinks he has to change. And it’s hard. You know it’s hard. All this romantic stuff isn’t always black and white. I like him for who he is, Alvaro. I don’t want him to change a single bit. I don’t want him to change just for me, because then…then who is he? I don’t want to change him. So there isn’t any way this is going to work out.”

Alvaro went quiet. He just sat there and stared out the windshield for the rest of the ride.

When Isco pulled up outside Alvaro’s building, Alvaro finally spoke again.

“Maybe you don’t have to change him,” he said. “Maybe it’s inside of him and he has to find it. Like I did.”

Isco didn’t think Franco would ever. Franco had too strong a mental image of himself to ever want to change it even slightly. Franco was stubborn. Franco was clear about who he was and what he wanted. Franco was everything that Isco wasn’t.

And now Isco was falling so hard, he was falling right into the deep pit of his own biggest fear. Of vulnerability. And with all his demons chasing after him, too.

He managed to give Alvaro a tiny smile. Alvaro accepted it gladly. He gave Isco a hug before getting out of the car and disappearing inside.

Isco drove home and took Junior out of Antonio’s hands so he could get back to Málaga in time for work the next morning. He avoided the questions that came out of Antonio’s mouth. Mostly about Franco. He heated up some leftovers in the fridge for dinner and boiled an egg for Junior to go with the mashed potatoes with broccoli bits hidden inside that Antonio had left. They sat at the dining table, Junior on his high chair opposite Isco, and ate their food quietly. Well, Junior tried to eat. Isco ended up having to feed him because he flung little potato bits everywhere.

Isco took a nice bubble bath with Junior to wash all the food bits off them. He got into bed and snuggled with Junior as he checked his phone. No more messages from Franco.

So Isco decided to text him instead.

Well, he didn’t actually _decide_ as much as he just. Just did it. Like a reflex.

_So how do I go about seeing Mars?_

The reply came minutes later. _Just go somewhere dark._

_How dark?_

And that started them off on a very long and detailed conversation about spotting planets. Isco even got out his laptop and started googling things. Isco never googled things.

Eventually their discussion got so heated that Franco started calling Isco. Isco didn’t even have time to look at his phone properly before Junior reached out with his sticky fingers and pressed the call button.

“Don’t do that,” Isco said, tapping Junior’s tiny hand with one of his fingers, a replacement for smacking him. Which Isco vowed he’d never do.

“Do what?” Franco’s voice floated over the line. Isco was embarrassed to say that his heart skipped a beat, like he was in a cliché love story.

“Nothing, I was talking to Junior.”

“Vazzzzquez!” Junior yelled, his spit going everywhere.

“Hi,” Franco laughed.

“The website I’m on says we can see five planets tomorrow night and a few nights after,” Isco said, deciding to jump straight into things.

“Yeah, depends on how dark the place is.”

And then Franco launched into this entire story about how when he was a kid, his dad had brought him to the darkest place he’d ever been to, in one of the hilly regions of Tanti. It was so dark that Franco couldn’t see where he was going without a torch. His dad had brought him up a hill and to a grassy area, where they’d sat under a patch of sky so starry and glittery that it put all the other skies Franco had seen since then to shame. They’d sat there for hours past midnight naming each star after an angel and telling each other made-up stories about them. It had been the best day of Franco’s life.

Isco just sat and listened. It wasn’t too often that Franco spoke so much at once. In comparison to when they’d first met, Franco had seemed to open up so much more.

“So what’s your favourite star?” Isco asked.

“I don’t have one.”

“I thought you’d have one,” Isco said. “Maybe in your astrological constellation. What is it anyway?”

“Pisces. You’re a Taurus.”

Isco typed ‘Pisces’ into the search bar and clicked on the Wikipedia page.

And immediately burst into laughter, surprising Franco.

“What the fuck you laughing at?” Franco asked.

“You helped some sex goddess out of the sea,” Isco said.

“What,” Franco said. “That’s not it. You’re saying it wrong.”

“I’m not saying it wrong. It says here that the fish symbol comes from some creature that led Aphrodite out of the sea.”

“You’re saying it too crudely.”

“Well, tell me a better way to say it.”

Franco went quiet, evidently not finding a nice enough way to say it himself. Isco took the time to click on the link that read ‘ichthyocentaurs’ and found that it was a Greek mythological creature that was a mix of a human, horse, lobster, and fish. It was, well. Pretty intimidating. Junior shrieked when he saw it.

“Maybe that’s why I’m so good at sex,” Franco finally offered. “It’s good karma.”

“Wow, way to twist it your way,” Isco rolled his eyes.

Franco sighed. He clicked around violently on his laptop for a few moments, and sighed again. “I don’t know crap about Greek mythology so I don’t even know what Taurus is.”

“It’s a bull, duh,” Isco said.

“I know that. But like, what’s so significant about this bull?”

“Hey, does that mean I’m good in bed, too?” Isco mused. “I mean, bulls, they…ram into things.”

“I’m the one who does all the ramming when we’re in bed, so it doesn’t really say anything.”

Isco pulled Junior’s head under his arm so his ears were covered. “Fuck you,” he whispered into the phone.

Franco laughed and Isco had never felt so smitten in his life.

“So where are you taking Junior tomorrow?” Franco asked.

“I can’t do tomorrow, I have a match,” Isco said. “Maybe I’ll take him to the park the day after.”

“Tell me if you see anything.”

“Okay. Tell me if _you_ see anything.”

“Yeah,” Franco chuckled. “I will.”

Isco briefly wondered if a booty call was in the making, but. But it suddenly didn’t seem appropriate. It had previously seemed so natural for them to just decide on a date and location to hook up, but to do that now seemed to be crossing a line.

Isco suddenly wasn’t sure what they were anymore. They were kinda in the middle of a triangle with the three edges being fuck buddies, friends, and a couple. They were just. Just stuck.

There was a really long silence until Junior remembered Franco was on the phone and yelled, “Vazquez, hi!”

“Hi,” Franco said again, this time loudly enough for Junior to hear.

“Vazquez miss papa?”

“Shhh,” Isco said, putting a finger over Junior’s lips as Junior giggled obliviously.

Franco only laughed softly. Isco wasn’t sure how that made him feel. Disappointed, or relieved.

Silence again. Isco found an old episode of Junior’s favourite cartoon on Youtube and put Junior in between his legs as he watched attentively. Franco just stayed there, virtually hovering around them, not making an audible sound.

Until he suddenly said, “Alarcon.”

“Yeah?” Isco squawked.

“What do you like about me?”

“What?”

“You…you like me,” Franco said. “Right? Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“I mean, there must be some reason you like me.”

There were. There were a thousand different reasons why Isco liked Franco. He liked Franco for how Franco made him feel. For his soft brown eyes and his kind smile. For his defensiveness and willingness to help or stand up for his friends no matter what. For his huge fucking hands, strong but gentle. For always listening to Isco even though Isco evidently bored or annoyed him with all his ranting. For his knowledge of the stars and never being too hesitant to share all of it with Isco. For his tender treatment of Junior, a toddler completely unrelated to him. For his beautiful mind, which Isco had a feeling he didn’t fully understand yet, but would gladly spend the next few years of his life, at least, trying to understand it all.

But Isco didn’t want to have to say all of that out loud. So instead he just said, “I like you for being you.”

“But,” Franco started to say, but his voice appeared to get stuck in his throat. “What exactly about me?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

Franco went quiet. Then he gave a sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Look,” Isco said softly. “I don’t want you to change anything about yourself.”

“I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Vazquez,” Isco whispered. “I don’t want to change you. I didn’t tell you this because I wanted to change you. I just told you because…because if I didn’t, then it would only get worse. You have to get this. Okay? Don’t do anything for me. I don’t want you to change any part of yourself. Just continue being who you are.”

“I don’t know what to do. Alarcon. I’m losing fucking control.”

“Franco. Franco, just listen to me. Just…just leave it. Okay? Don’t do anything.”

“But I promised you.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t promise me anything. Okay? Let’s not talk about it.”

A long, long silence. Isco buried his nose in Junior’s hair so he wouldn’t cry.

“So,” Franco started. “You like me…for all of me.”

Isco nodded his head, but realised Franco couldn’t see him. He closed his eyes. “Mmhmm,” he said. “It’s like. Kinda like looking at a galaxy. There’s all those stars and stuff, the stars that look so beautiful up close, individually, when you look at them one by one. And you think that’s all, you think you can pick out your favourite. But then you look at it as a whole, and. And it’s just so much more beautiful. I don’t want to pick one. I pick the whole thing. Yeah? It’s like that.”

Franco gave a soft, gentle laugh. “So I’m a galaxy?”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He realised that once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “Maybe – maybe we both are. Maybe we’re the Milky Way and Andromeda. On a collision course. Maybe it takes forever, maybe we will never live to see ourselves collide with each other because it will take us hundreds of billions of years to even touch each other. Maybe this is something we don’t get to see in this life. Maybe this is just all we are, close to each other but never getting a chance to touch, just seeing each other from far away across the sky. I don’t know, Franco. I don’t know. Okay?”

“Okay,” Franco said after a brief pause. His voice was thick, like he had been crying. Isco hated to hear that. It’d broken his heart to see Franco crying the previous night at Junior’s party. He never thought he’d ever see Franco cry. He didn’t even think _Franco cried_.

“I just know that,” Isco continued. “I know that galaxies have never changed for someone else. They’re always doing their thing. Galaxies are their own beautiful thing and they don’t change just because someone else asks them to. Maybe…maybe when they get too close to another galaxy. But they don’t change, they do their thing, and they stay beautiful. I mean, come on. You, Franco Damian Vazquez, you are an entire galaxy of a trillion stars. You should never have to change for someone else. So just…just do you. Okay? Vazquez.”

Franco gave a little sound like he was half laughing, half sobbing. “You know so much about space now.”

“I listen to everything you say.”

“Thank you,” Franco whispered.

“Go get some sleep,” Isco said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Franco said. “Night, Isco.”

Isco smiled. He rarely heard Franco call him by name. He liked hearing it. “Night.”

He put his phone on the table and kept his laptop after Junior was done with his episode. He whistled for Bubu, who came prancing in and curling in a ball at the foot of the bed. Then Isco lay down and hugged Junior close to him as Junior dozed.

He ended up getting up and collecting Bubu from the bottom of the bed. He hugged Bubu against his other side so both his arms were occupied. Because Isco was lonely. He was suddenly so small and alone in this world, like a galaxy that had formed far from a cluster. And he hated it.

\------

Isco was glad that it was finally time for the football season to start again, because he thought he was going to go fucking crazy with all his overthinking. He was pretty hyped up for it, especially since Sevilla had played a day earlier and Franco had scored and assisted and Isco was just so _proud_.

That excitement was only short-lived, unfortunately, because the first notable thing Isco managed to do was to get himself injured. He sprained his ankle and had to sit out the second game of the season.

Alvaro swung by after the match with some supper for Isco. He dumped the soup and bread on the coffee table as he marched into Isco’s house, phone to his ear.

“My leg’s injured,” Isco grumbled. “Not my mouth. I can eat proper food.”

“Whatever,” Alvaro said. He held his phone towards Isco. Paulo’s face was on the current call. “Say hi.”

“Hi,” Isco and Paulo said at the same time.

Alvaro set the phone down on the couch between them after turning it on speaker. He opened the soup and handed Isco a piece of bread. “Don’t make me feed you,” he said.

Isco sighed. He _was_ a little hungry. And having Alvaro around helped, not because of the food he brought with him but just because. Because it meant Isco wasn’t alone.

He took the bowl of soup and dumped the bread in it. He slurped it noisily as Alvaro chatted lazily on the phone with Paulo while flipping through the channels on TV.

“So how’s everything with you, Isco?” Paulo asked after Alvaro had finished babbling about the goal he’d scored earlier.

“Everything’s fine,” Isco said.

“He’s not fine,” Alvaro scoffed. “He’s living in some soap opera.”

“Fuck you, I’m not.”

“What kind of soap opera?” Paulo asked.

“A love story,” Alvaro said. “Franco and Isco. Franco and Francisco. A match made in heaven. But also not. Wow, I should write a movie.”

“Shut the fuck up, Alvaro,” Paulo said. “What’s up with you and Franco?” he asked Isco.

“Nothing’s up between us,” Isco said as casually as he could manage. He was chewing on some bread, which seemed to help his cause.

“Bullshit,” Alvaro contributed.

“It’s not bullshit. There really is nothing happening between us.”

“The point is you _want_ something to happen between you.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let him live his life. It’s just like you and Paulo. You let each other just…just live. Just be yourselves. You didn’t force each other into anything or try to change one another. It’s just like that. I want him to be himself more than I want him to be…be mine or whatever. It isn’t that different from the two of you. I don’t get why that’s so hard for you to understand.”

Alvaro went quiet for a long moment, and so did Paulo. Isco continued munching on his food.

“It’s different from us, though,” Alvaro finally said. “I mean, we liked each other. He doesn’t like you back.”

“Alvaro!” Paulo exclaimed. “That’s rude.”

Isco laughed. He couldn’t help it. This was just so typically Paulo and Alvaro. “It’s true, though,” he said. He had to take Alvaro’s side on this one.

“Does he know? What did he say about it?”

Isco shrugged, although Paulo couldn’t see him. “He’s trying to figure it out.”

“He’s aro,” Alvaro pointed out, like that fact hadn’t been brought up a hundred times before in this whole discussion.

Everyone went silent again for a while. Like no one actually knew what to say. Isco knew he didn’t. This was literally the only topic on earth that Isco had no opinion about. Isco finished his soup, his munching and spoon-clanging the only sound in the quiet room. He spilled a drop of soup on the table, so he got up and hobbled to the kitchen to get a cloth.

He hobbled back outside, wiped the table, and took Alvaro’s phone with him back to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Alvaro called halfheartedly.

“Just for a moment,” Isco said as he got to the kitchen again. He turned off speaker. “Paulo. I’m alone and I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” Paulo asked kindly.

“It’s just,” Isco sighed. “You know Franco better than me.”

Paulo laughed. “Are you sure about that? You hung out with him all summer.”

Isco rolled his eyes. Alvaro was a blabbermouth. “I just,” he ran his hand through his hair. “I just want to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“How did you do it?” Isco asked softly. “You know, being…being in love with Alvaro and having Alvaro…you know, honestly, being an asshole. I mean, you probably thought that he didn’t love you back.”

“Yeah,” Paulo whispered. “More than once.”

“How did you, you know,” Isco closed his eyes and let his hand land on the counter with a smack. “Live with that? Thinking it’s one sided. How do you hold on?”

Paulo gave a little laugh. “It’s just like you said. Let him be himself. If he figures out he really wants you, then he’ll be back. It doesn’t help trying to make it happen.”

“I don’t want to change him, Paulo.”

“I know,” Paulo said. “It feels like for this to happen, you need him to change. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isco breathed, suddenly just. Just really relieved that Paulo got it. 

“Don’t think too much about it. The thing with Franco…the thing with Franco is that…he’s like this to everyone. You can’t think that it’s your fault. I asked him once, you know? When we were…sleeping together. I told him about Alvaro, and I asked him if he’d ever fall for me.”

“Because what you were doing with him was high-risk?”

“Yeah. That was when he came out to me, sort of. I didn’t really understand it at first. I thought it was something about me. I mean, I didn’t _want_ him to fall for me, of course. I just. Just didn’t really understand. But I figured it out. It wasn’t my fault that he didn’t like me. It’s never anyone’s fault. It’s just the way Franco is. And it’s not your fault for falling for him, either. It’s just…I don’t know. A little bit unlucky.”

Isco smiled. “Thanks, Paulo.”

“But I get why you’d fall for him,” Paulo ventured. “Franco is…he’s a really, really great guy.”

“He is. He really, really is.”

“Just don’t think too much about it. Maybe…maybe he’ll figure it out, and it’ll be something that was inside him all this while, and he doesn’t need to change.”

“That’s exactly what Alvaro said to me,” Isco said. “Holy fuck, you two should get married immediately.”

Paulo burst into laughter. “Yeah? Well, it’s true.”

“But it doesn’t seem too likely that Franco will accept that he was wrong about himself,” Isco started slowly. “Don’t you think so?”

“You never know, Isco,” Paulo said. “I mean, I’m not saying you should get your hopes up or anything. But…you just never know.”

“Has Franco spoken to you about this?”

“No, but I’m seeing him in a couple weeks when we play Sevilla. Maybe he’ll say something about it. If it isn’t settled by then.”

“Thanks, Paulo,” Isco smiled. “I just…I think you were very brave.”

“Thank you,” Paulo laughed again, this time shyly. “You’re very brave, too.”

Isco went outside and returned the phone to Alvaro. He scooped Bubu off the floor, popped into Junior’s room to check on him, and then went to bed, trusting that Alvaro was going to lock everything up safely when he left. He didn’t check his phone. He was afraid that if he did, there’d be a message from Franco.

Isco welcomed Franco’s texts most of the time, he really did. Franco was the person he enjoyed texting the most. It wasn’t that Franco was bugging him or leading him on or anything. But Isco was just afraid.

He was afraid he would fall into the same abyss, the same familiar yet unwelcome embrace of his overwhelming feelings for Franco, once again.

\------

For a few days, Franco was too afraid to even think about everything that had happened between him and Isco. That conversation with Isco, that galaxy talk – it had only made things worse. Franco hadn’t even known he was capable of such intense feelings. That he could cry just from hearing Isco speak. Franco would’ve been embarrassed, but. He didn’t even know how to feel anymore.

He felt like he needed someone to talk to. Unfortunately, the only person in the world he felt comfortable talking about this to – it was Isco.

 _You say I’m a galaxy but which of my stars is your favourite?_ he texted Isco.

 _I don’t have a favourite,_ was the reply.

_You must have._

_I don’t._

_Why won’t you tell me?_ Franco asked. He felt like. Like maybe if he knew what Isco liked about him, then he’d understand himself better. Because things were always better with an outside point of view. Maybe Isco could tell him something about himself that he’d never known about.

_I’d tell you if I could think of one thing I like the most._

Franco sighed. _Okay, one thing you hate about me._

_Don’t be fucking stupid._

_Is that an answer?_

_No._

_One thing you want to know about me?_

And this. This actually started to work. The header started to read _typing…_ for a really long time, like Isco had this entire list of things he wanted to know about Franco and was currently spitting them out even though Franco had only asked for one.

But when the message finally came, it was only one sentence.

_You say you’re not fighting your feelings._

Franco’s fingers hovered nervously over the keypad as he thought of what to say. It wasn’t exactly a question. But it still warranted an answer.

 _Yeah,_ was what he finally typed.

 _I think you are_.

_Why do you say that?_

And then the wall of text that Isco had spent such a long time typing finally came flooding in.

_You say this is not you. You say that you’re aro and you can’t just not be aro like that. So you’re scared and you have to figure it out all over again. I get that. I get that this isn’t you. I get that you’re scared and you want to protect me. I get that this is different from what you’re used to. But it doesn’t mean you have to deny that it’s happening. What about me? I never liked men before I met you. You are the first man I’ve ever fallen for, and you just happen to be someone who will never like me back. It’s just my luck. But do you get how much this frightens me? This is my biggest fucking fear, Vazquez. How weak I am for you. How vulnerable I feel around you. So vulnerable that you are the first guy to have ever broken this wall and made me question myself. I don’t know how to deal with this. This is different for me, it’s foreign to me, too. It’s new. It’s something I never knew about myself. But you don’t see me fighting it. You don’t see me denying that it’s happening. I’m scared too, you know? Have you thought about that?_

Franco read the whole thing a few times. First quickly, and then slowly, word by word. Over and over again. Fact was, he hadn’t. He hadn’t thought about that. So he had nothing to say to Isco, nothing to say that he could possibly defend himself with.

The next message from Isco came a minute later.

_I’m not telling you how to feel or what to do. I’m not saying you have to like me back. I don’t want you to if it makes you upset. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this while. I don’t want to change you, not one single bit. Be yourself, Vazquez. Don’t be scared to be yourself. I’m being myself all the time and it’s done me no harm. You know that. Please don’t make this the first time I’ve shot myself in the foot by confessing something I shouldn’t have. Because that’s me. If I’d never told you, never even thought of telling you, then I wouldn’t be me. Please don’t make me regret being myself. Because I’ve been able to be myself around you ever since the first day we met. And I like that about us. I don’t want to have to change that. And if you think that having me around is going to pressurize you into doing something you don’t want to, or changing a part of you that you don’t want to change, then that’s alright. Okay? That’s alright. I can leave. I’ll leave you alone if you want me to._

Franco didn’t realise he was crying until the tears blurred the words out. He wiped them away and read the message again. And again. And again and again. Even Isco’s _words_ , words on a phone screen and not in Isco’s _voice_ , had such an impact on Franco, fuck, Franco was in so fucking deep.

But he liked Isco just the way he was, too. The entire galaxy that Isco was. He never wanted Isco to change, never wanted Isco to wish that he hadn’t come clean. He wished he didn’t have to keep bugging Isco about this. He wished that he didn’t hurt Isco every time he spoke to Isco. But Isco seemed to be the only key to Franco ever getting the solution to his problem. Franco had never, ever in his life doubted himself so strongly. But he didn’t want Isco to think that this was his fault.

He realised what a hypocrite he was being, claiming that he couldn’t let Isco stay for fear of Isco being hurt, but then going a full circle and trying to use Isco to understand himself.

He realised that maybe in order to protect the _both of them_ – Franco had to let Isco go completely.

Maybe in order to stop Isco from being hurt, Franco had to make Isco hate him. He had to make Isco feel like there was nothing left to lose. He had to pin all the blame on himself.

Franco tried putting all of that into words, but he failed. So he decided that maybe it was the easiest to do it the way he’d always done things – without words at all.

So he didn’t reply. He didn’t reply to that entire chunk of Isco’s confessions. He just closed the text window with shaking fingers, locked his phone, and left it on his side table.

\------

A little more than a week later, Franco travelled to Turin to face Juventus in the Champions League.

The match ended a goalless draw, which Franco honestly didn’t think was too bad for the first group stage match. And his Champions League debut.

He wanted to talk to someone about it, but he hadn’t spoken to Isco for almost two weeks. He sat in the Juventus Stadium locker room staring at their text conversation, wondering what to say. Wondering if he should say anything. The line _I’ll leave you alone if you want me to_ , the last line of their texts, was like a long candle wick burning Franco’s eyes.

He met Paulo in the corridor on the way to the showers. He tried slinking away because honestly, he just wanted to be alone. But Paulo caught up with him.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Franco pointed out, jutting his chin towards the ‘away team showers’ sign.

“Wanna hang?” Paulo asked, ignoring Franco’s statement.

“Why?”

“Just wanna hang with my old friend.”

Franco narrowed his eyes. “Okay, what do you wanna do?”

“Come to my place. You can help me build the Lego Eiffel Tower again.”

“Didn’t you already finish that?”

“Yeah, but Alvaro was being a huge dork and knocked it over.”

Franco laughed. “Fucking Morata.”

“So?”

“Yeah, I’ll put my stuff at the hotel first.”

So Franco got back to the hotel and put all his stuff in his room, told his roommate he’d be back before morning, and left for Paulo’s place.

Paulo didn’t seem to be doing a great job at – well, at doing whatever he’d wanted to do. He sat with Franco on the ground with the Eiffel Tower half-finished in front of them, but didn’t pick up any Lego pieces, just sat there and stared at Franco. He didn’t even speak. It was awkward as fuck.

“Do I have to tell Morata you’re staring at me like that?” Franco finally asked.

Paulo narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he remarked.

“Why would I have?”

Paulo shook his head, like he was telling Franco to forget it. He finally picked up some pieces and helped Franco put them together. Which was just as well, because it was _his_ sculpture. They worked quietly for a while, the news playing softly in the background. Paulo stopped a couple of times to check his phone. And text Alvaro, probably. Because he was smiling each time.

“Can I ask you something?” Franco heard himself say before he even realised.

“Yeah?”

Franco sighed. Since he’d already asked, he might as well go through with it. Besides, this was the purest, most meaningful slice of love Franco had ever seen in the world.

“How did you know?” he asked. “That you loved Alvaro?”

Paulo stared at him for a long, long while.

“I just…knew,” he finally said. “It’s like. Like he filled a gap I didn’t know I had.”

“Even after all these years?”

“Yeah.”

“But how did you _know_?”

“There are so many ways of knowing, Franco,” Paulo said. “When I first met Alvaro, I wanted to do everything with him. _Everything_. And he wanted to do everything with me. It was just. We’re so alike, you know? We just clicked. And it’s not just on the outside. Alvaro gets me. You know? It’s the way…I guess it’s the way he makes me feel. Alvaro is so kind. He’s funny and supportive and he takes care of me and he always makes me smile. Even when he’s being an asshole. Because I know he’ll never be an asshole to _me._ It’s just. Just the feeling of wanting to be with him all the time. Even if we’re not doing anything at all. It’s like the world stops when I’m with him. Everything else seems so trivial when I have Alvaro.”

“Even after he hurt you?”

“He didn’t mean to hurt me, Franco. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. “Yeah.”

“Why do you ask?”

Franco shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“Do you have anything you wanna talk about?”

“No, I just,” Franco breathed. He felt his chest contracting. Like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Because he realised that. That he had all those things with Isco. He felt all those things about Isco. He stood up, stumbling a step backwards because all the blood had gone from his brain. “I need the bathroom,” he said, walking in the general direction of where he thought the bathroom was.

Fortunately, he found it. He shut the door, locked it, closed the toilet, and sat on it trying to catch his breath. Tears started to burn his cheeks, so he unrolled some toilet paper and stuffed it into his eyes, to no avail.

There was suddenly a loud knock on the door, making Franco jump. “You okay?” Paulo asked.

“I’m pooping,” Franco lied. Very blatantly, too, because his voice was thick as hell.

The door suddenly jiggled open and Paulo just walked right into the bathroom. He took one look at Franco sitting on the closed toilet with damp tissue in his hands and his expression faltered into one of slight pity.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” Franco asked.

“The lock’s ruined and I’m too lazy to get a locksmith. Alvaro hates it.”

“Well, leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone. Obviously the both of you are struggling and you need to stop being complete idiots like you always said me and Alvaro were.”

Franco froze. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What do you mean by the _both_ of us are struggling?”

Paulo blinked at him like he’d just realised he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. “That’s not the point,” he said. “The point is, what exactly is up between you two? You and Isco?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you want there to be?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Franco said loudly, his sobs trying to escape through his shuddering shoulders. “I don’t fucking know!”

“Do you…do you _feel_ anything? For him?”

Franco sighed. He closed his eyes as he involuntary curled up on himself, a reflex for when he was embarrassed or put in a vulnerable position. Physically closing up. He nodded and heard Paulo give a soft sigh.

“Then what’s the issue?” Paulo asked.

“I’m not _supposed to_ ,” Franco said. “I’ve never felt this way. I don’t understand it. I never have. And now…now I feel it. It’s like an uninvited parasite. I don’t understand _how_ and I don’t understand _why_ and I just want it to go away.”

“Do you, though? Do you want it to go away?”

“I don’t even know what it is,” Franco sobbed. Like, all-out sobbing. Paulo had never even seen him _cry_ before.

“Does it matter?” Paulo said. He jabbed a finger at Franco’s chest. “It’s here. That’s all that matters.”

“I don’t know who I am, Paulo,” Franco whispered. “I feel like a completely different person.”

Paulo walked over and stood next to Franco, just. Just standing there and doing nothing for a few moments. Then he wrapped his arms around Franco’s head and pressed it into his abdomen. “I know that,” he said gently. “I’ve felt that way before.”

“I don’t _feel this_ ,” Franco continued. “You know that. You understand. That’s who I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re aromantic,” Paulo said.

“Yeah.”

“Defined as ‘one who doesn’t feel romantic attraction.’”

Franco nodded.

“What if you’re not?” Paulo asked.

“What do you mean?” Franco asked. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t know why he wasn’t angry. Probably because Paulo had said it so politely.

“What if you’re not aromantic?” Paulo repeated. “I mean, you’re feeling romantic attraction right now. That practically kicks you out of your aro club. You can’t deny it. You can say you don’t want it to be true, you can try to fight it, you can keep berating yourself for being a different person – but you can’t change the fact that _you’re romantically attracted to Isco_. Do you get it? You can deny it all you want. But it won’t change this fact, it won’t change this feeling. You say you’re not _supposed to_. But who defines that? Who says you’re supposed to be like this, or not supposed to be like this? It’s _yourself,_ Vazquez. It’s up to you. You can be whatever you like.”

“I’m not _fighting it_ ,” Franco said through gritted teeth. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“You are, Vazquez,” Paulo said. “You are. You don’t see it yourself.”

“So I was wrong?” Franco sobbed. “But how? How was I wrong? All these years. Nearly ten years.”

Paulo went quiet for a while, just gently stroked Franco’s hair. Then he said, “Stop fighting it, Franco. You are what you are. And all the signs are trying to tell you something. I’m not saying you have to be like, not aro immediately. But just. I’m just saying that maybe you shouldn’t be so scared of being on the other side. Being romantic.”

“You know, Isco told me he doesn’t want to change me,” Franco said. “Does this mean…does this mean he’s changing me? Because…like, he’d be mad if I did something I don’t want to. And I don’t know if I want this.”

“Did you feel this way for Isco before you knew he felt the same way?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you aren’t _changing for him_ , Franco. If you felt this way before, that means he didn’t _make_ you go through this. This feeling didn’t spring up on you just because you knew a relationship was possible. This feeling came naturally. You’re changing of your own free will.”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. It just. Just suddenly made sense to him. He’d thought he couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t please Isco and satisfy himself at once, but. But it suddenly made sense. “Yeah.”

“Don’t be sad anymore, ‘kay?”

Franco nodded. He wasn’t sad as much as he was scared. He was fucking scared out of his fucking wits. “But don’t you think…don’t you think Isco and I won’t work out? Because you and Alvaro…you’re the same. We’re complete opposites. Like. Complete.”

“There must be a reason you like him, Franco,” Paulo said softly. “It’s up to you to decide if you like him more than you’re scared of admitting you’re wrong.”

Franco sighed. He pressed the damp toilet paper on his eyes again. “He’s amazing, Paulo.”

“Yeah?” Paulo said, and he sounded like he was smiling. “That’s a good first step.”

“Yeah?” Franco repeated.

“Yeah,” Paulo said. “Vazquez. When you were seventeen and figuring out the whole aro thing, did you feel like it was an unwanted parasite, too?”

“I guess, yeah,” Franco mumbled. “Or more like an invisible wall I couldn’t pass.”

“But you did it in the end, didn’t you?” Paulo gave Franco’s hair a few pats. “You got it right. You got the answer.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to do that again now. You’ve done it once and you can do it again. Just because you don’t know this part of yourself, because you’ve never seen it or felt it before, doesn’t make it wrong. Okay?”

“Okay.”

But Franco remembered the pain. He remembered seventeen-year-old Franco’s pain. He was dreading going through that again. Maybe that was the reason why he wanted to be static. Why he was so resistant to change. Why he had been sitting around all day thinking about Isco instead of actually _acting_ on trying to figure all of this out.

But he also realised he liked Isco enough to put himself through all of that again.

Franco had always been so scared to lose control. He was so scared that he hadn’t noticed he had _already lost control_. That he was slowly, gradually spiralling into a black hole, past the point of no return. He’d already lost it long before he had been aware he was.

Now it was only a matter of trying to regain it. And the first thing to do was to at least try to leave his old skin behind and find out what he really, really was. He knew it didn’t really matter to other people. He knew sexuality and romanticity were fluid to other people. But Franco was different. Franco couldn’t live without _knowing_. He couldn’t live without a name for who he was, without a label, without a community he knew he belonged in.

So Franco decided he'd set off to find a new one.

\------

Isco didn’t hear from Franco for a really, really long time.

The two weeks passed in a blur. Well, mostly because Isco just sat on his butt all day and looked at his phone and wondered if he’d been too harsh with Franco.

And worried that Franco had took his words completely seriously and was taking it as Isco wanting him to bug off.

Which was the exact opposite of what Isco wanted. Isco _didn’t_ want him to bug off. He wanted them to bug each other for the rest of their fucking lives. Okay, well, not the rest of their lives, but. But it was pretty close.

He opened the text conversation with Franco and sighed at it. He scrolled up past the wall of text he’d sent, just scrolled up aimlessly until he hit one of the nice parts. They used to have many nice parts.

 _Junior just pooped on me_ , Isco had sent.

_How the fuck did he poop on you?_

_He said he wanted to poop. I was taking him to the bathroom._

_Wouldn’t it get on his clothes first?_

_He wasn’t wearing clothes._

_Diapers?_

_Nope._

_Then why the fuck you carrying a naked baby around? You deserve it._

_Fuck off. Wait till your kid poops on you._

_I hope you washed your hands before texting me._

_I collected the poop in a bag and put it on your doorstep._

_You didn’t._

_I did. Go check your door._

_You didn’t,_ Franco had typed, and then disappeared for three minutes and came back. _Liar._

_You went to check? Holy fuck. It happened like ten minutes ago. How can a bag of poop travel from Madrid to Seville in ten minutes?_

_Fuck you. I hate you. Don’t talk to me._

And Isco had laughed about it for the rest of the day. And a few days after that.

He leaned his head on the headboard and closed his eyes, but barely got a minute of rest before Junior came bundling into the room and banging his little fists on the bed, wanting Isco to carry him up on it.

“Okay, okay,” Isco said, lifting him up by his underarms. He took Isco’s phone and saw the conversation with Franco opened on the screen.

“Vazquez!” he exclaimed.

Isco smiled. He took his phone and put it aside, and put Junior on his lap. Junior was probably still too young to understand, but Isco realised he’d never thought about how Junior would feel if he started dating again. Not even just Franco. With anyone at all. Junior was old enough to know his papa and mama. It would honestly be a little hard to explain to him why he had an extra parent.

“You know you have one papa and one mama?” Isco started softly as Junior fiddled with the cloth ball he’d found on Isco’s bed.

Junior nodded. “One papa, one mama.”

“What if you have more?” Isco asked. “Two papas…or two mamas?”

“Two papas?” Junior repeated slowly. He lifted his pointer finger in the air and jabbed it at Isco’s chin. “One papa,” he said, and then raised his middle finger to join his pointer finger. “Two papas?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco smiled. “You like that?”

“And mama?”

“Two papas, one mama.”

“What’s two and one?” Junior asked.

“Three,” Isco said, lifting Junior’s ring finger to join the other fingers. “Two plus one is three.”

“Three!” Junior exclaimed. “I like.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! More for me!” Junior yelled, and then buried his head in Isco’s neck, giggling loudly. “I have two papas?”

“I don’t know, baby,” Isco flattened Junior’s hair, still a little damp from his earlier shower. “Maybe even if you do, it’s only going to be temporary.”

“What’s temporary?” Junior asked, completely slaughtering the pronunciation of the word.

“It means you have something for a short while, and then it’s gone.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Isco whispered. He honestly didn’t know. He just knew that everything he had ever come across in his life had been temporary. Everything.

“Papa don’t know anything,” Junior remarked, but continued snuggling himself up against Isco, anyway. “I want more papas.”

Isco smiled. He hugged Junior closer to his chest and kissed the top of his head. He was right. Isco didn’t know anything. Maybe he should stop even thinking about it. Because Franco’s silence was an answer on its own. _I’ll leave you alone if you want me to_. No reply. Meaning Franco _did_ want Isco to leave him alone.

Isco sighed. Maybe he had better things to do than to sit around pining for Franco all day. Better things to do than to plan for it, to imagine what it’d be like if they _were_ together. Because after all, two weeks of radio silence had passed. Two weeks. It was the longest they’d ever gone without talking, ever since they’d met in April. Longest they’d gone without, well. Without fucking.

Maybe he had better things to do than to want someone who obviously did not want him back.

\------

It took Franco a while to gather his balls enough to press ‘enter’ after typing ‘aromantic’ in the search bar. Three weeks, to be exact. He’d tried it over and over again for several days, just typing it and then backspacing it and closing the window. Afraid of what he’d see on the results page. Thinking of what it would mean to him. Thinking of Isco and wanting to pick up the phone to text him but in the end not doing it because he was too afraid to set his eyes on the ‘ _I’ll leave you alone if you want me to_ ’ line again.

He sighed as the page loaded, sitting up in his chair as a nervous reflex. He scrolled down slowly past the things he already knew. _What does it mean to be aromantic?_ No. _What is an aromantic asexual?_ Not that, either. _How do I know if I’m aromantic?_ Franco had done that test four times and got the same result so he didn’t think it would help his case.

He continued scrolling.

He scrolled to the end of the first page of search results but something made him scroll back up again.

He saw the link that he knew was going to change his life even though he hadn’t even clicked on it yet.

His heart clenched up tightly in his chest as he hovered his mouse over it. His breaths took on a hard, quick rhythm. His heart had forgotten how to beat and his lungs had forgotten how to expand. But that didn’t matter to Franco right at that moment, because he had a feeling he was one step closer.

He held his breath as he clicked on the link. At least he remembered how to do that.

Then the page loaded, the heading in big, bold, black block letters.

_The Aromantic Spectrum._


	17. You Can Drag Me Through Hell If It Meant I Could Hold Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Follow You by Bring Me The Horizon.

Franco got out of his chair and away from the computer before the page could finish loading. He walked to his bedroom door and turned back. The page had loaded and Franco’s hands had begun to shake. He ran his fingers through his hair to try and stop them, but it only made things worse.

He walked outside and sat down on the couch. He turned on the TV and then turned it off again. He went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and closed it without getting anything.

He went back to the bedroom door and stood there staring at his computer screen, the olive green background of the website taunting him. He felt like if he went too close to it, it would swallow him whole.

Franco took one step into the room. Nothing changed. Nothing moved. So he took another step. And another. He looked stupid, _felt stupid_ , but there was no one watching him, so Franco was like, fuck it.

He finally reached his chair like, five minutes later, and sat down in it slowly. He grabbed the mouse in his sweaty, shaky hand and started scrolling down the page.

_The aromantic spectrum encompasses people who feel that their romantic orientation is not within the bounds of what is traditionally considered romantic. They may lack romantic attraction to people or experience it so infrequently that they associate more with being aromantic than romantic._

Franco read that paragraph like, five times. He couldn’t really believe that on this planet existed one set of words that described him so fucking well. So maybe he wasn’t aromantic. But he also wasn’t _romantic._

The first link on the page led to the definition of being aromantic, which Franco already knew. He read it, anyway. As a memory of something he used to think he was. A frame he used to fit.

The second link led to the definition of being greyromantic. Franco clicked on it and read it slowly, word for word, like his life depended on it.

 _Greyromantic individuals can experience romantic attraction but it is rare or infrequent_.

Okay, that made sense to Franco. He guessed feeling romantic attraction this one time in all twenty seven years of his life was considered ‘rare or infrequent.’

_They can experience attraction that is not quite platonic nor romantic._

Still making sense. After all, Franco hadn’t really sorted out his feelings. Or given them a definition.

_They can experience romantic attraction but not desire a romantic relationship._

And then it stopped making sense, because Franco realised that he _did_ want a romantic relationship. With Isco. And if he _were_ greyromantic, then. Well, then he would be really sad.

But then he remembered that it wasn’t the label that chose him. It was _he_ who chose the _label_ to describe himself. He didn’t have to _conform_ to any of these if he didn’t want to.

So he clicked back and went to the next definition. Lithromantic.

_Lithromantics can feel romantic attraction to others and/or enjoy being in romantic relationships, but only in theory. They do not need the affection to be reciprocated and hence do not usually feel compelled to seek out a relationship with their crush._

Franco sighed. Inside his head, he was just going _no, no, no,_ a thousand times a minute. He closed the browser window and rolled into bed, face down in his pillow. He lifted his head briefly to text the only person in the world who would listen to him right then.

 _It isn’t working_ , he sent to Paulo.

 _What isn’t working?_ was the reply that came a couple of minutes later. Franco rolled on his back to reply it. He typed a few lines and then backspaced it all because, well. Paulo would listen, of course. But Paulo wouldn’t really _understand_.

So instead he just sent, _Nothing_.

 _If nothing is not working then everything is working, dumbass_ , was Paulo’s next text. And then a few seconds later, _Sorry, that was Alvaro._

Franco sighed. He dumped his phone aside. Everyone had someone with them. Someone they could have fun with. Someone whom they loved and who loved them back.

It wasn’t that Franco pined for anything like that with anyone. He just. Just pined for something like that with _one person_. With _Isco_. Franco had never wanted anything like this before. It was like a tsunami of feelings.

And when he thought about it, he had no explanation for it. He certainly didn’t like Isco just because of his character. Because Isco was practically Alvaro in terms of character and Franco certainly did not have a crush on Alvaro fucking Morata. And it wasn’t just because of Isco’s big heart, either, because Paulo had the same, if not a bigger, heart. And Franco didn’t have a crush on Paulo.

Franco rolled back around so he could see his laptop. The screen had turned off by itself. He stared at the reflection of his feet in it.

He got back up and went back to his chair, hitting the space bar to turn the screen back on. He opened the web browser again with a sigh.

 _Aromantic spectrum_ , he typed into the search bar. The site he’d been on earlier was the first result. He clicked on it again.

The next link on the list read _demiromantic_. Franco clicked on it.

_Someone who is demiromantic only experiences romantic attraction after a strong emotional bond has been formed._

Franco froze.

He read it again.

He scrolled down the page but that was literally all they had about it. He closed it in frustration, opening another tab and typing ‘demiromantic’ in the search bar.

_Demiromantics do not experience primary romantic attraction, but they may experience secondary romantic attraction._

“What the fuck is primary romantic attraction?” Franco asked out loud, and then realised that the computer was literally right there and no one was there to listen to him. He shook his head and sighed. He repeated the process for ‘primary romantic attraction.’

_Primary romantic attraction: A romantic attraction to people based on instantly available information (e.g. love at first sight)._

_Secondary romantic attraction: A romantic attraction that develops over time based on a relationship and emotional connection with someone else._

Franco typed ‘is everyone demiromantic?’ in the search bar.

He read all the forum links in the search results. People arguing against demiromanticism. Saying that it was fucking obvious everyone would want to get to know someone before getting into a relationship with them. So by that definition, _everyone_ was demiromantic.

Then there was the other group that disagreed. Pointed out the fact that some people dated to get to know each other better. That people actually were capable of falling for someone merely for the smell of their perfume or the colour of their eyes. There wasn’t the need to thoroughly get to know someone before starting to feel attracted to them romantically. This distinguished primary and secondary romantic attraction and put demiromantics in their own category.

So Franco did what he always did when he was faced with the task of taking sides. He tried to argue for each side to see which side he felt comfortable being on.

Franco certainly didn’t have a crush on Isco on first sight. Sure, Isco’s pretty mouth had done unspeakable things to him. But that had been all. The only connection Franco had felt towards Isco was their physical, sexual connection.

In fact, Franco realised he hadn’t actually _liked_ Isco. Isco was fucking annoying. He asked too many questions and he had too many opinions.

But that was exactly what had caused everything to go downhill.

Isco had dug deep. He had dug deep into Franco’s soul and he had gotten all the answers that he needed. He had unintentionally built Franco up to trust Isco enough because no matter how ugly Franco’s interior was, Isco had shown him that he wouldn’t run away. That he accepted it. That he understood it and he would never, ever use it against Franco. Fuck, he even let Franco take control all the fucking time because he knew Franco liked it. Franco pretended he didn’t notice, but. But he did.

And he’d shown that _he_ trusted Franco as well, that he felt a hundred percent comfortable around Franco and that he could talk to Franco about anything, even the most mundane things like finding a preschool for Junior. Franco even understood Isco’s hesitance, Isco’s self-blaming, his desire to prioritize what Franco wanted. He understood everything, as if it was all as transparent as the purest crystal in the world.

It explained why Franco felt like that night in Dubai, when he’d told Isco his biggest fear was losing control – was the night he had begun uncontrollably falling for Isco. Because he had stripped himself bare and built the both of them a bridge to cross. He had literally let Isco into his head.

Franco realised he would feel completely comfortable just sitting in Isco’s head for one entire day, or for days at a time. Just sitting there, letting Isco’s thoughts swirl around him, understanding and living every facet of Isco’s life.

And to have that connection with someone, to have his mind connected to someone else so firmly and deeply, to know that this person would always be there to support him, to know that _he_ felt so profoundly for this person that he would do it in return every time over and over again – it was everything Franco had never known he needed.

Franco opened his eyes and found himself in bed again, tangled up in his sheets like he’d physically struggled all the way over here from his table while thinking about all those things. His pillow was damp. He rolled on his back and wiped his tears with the back of his hands.

He thought about Paulo. About why he hadn’t fallen for Paulo, because after all for a few years in Franco’s life, Paulo was his closest friend. And Franco didn’t really feel anything towards Paulo at the beginning of their sexual relationship. He’d never been physically attracted to Paulo, not until the opportunity had presented itself. But to be fair, Franco had been looking for another fuck buddy.

Franco realised that he had to define ‘emotional connection’ on his own. Did he ever feel an emotional connection to Paulo? Sure, Paulo had told him everything. Paulo had talked to him multiple times about what was happening in his life, and about Alvaro. In the end, Franco had ended up knowing exactly what Paulo needed even if Paulo never opened his mouth. Franco thought, maybe that was an emotional connection right there.

Did he – did he ever have a crush on Paulo and not know it?

Franco began to panic. He took his phone and opened the text conversation with Paulo, but closed it without typing anything and opened the one he had with Isco. He didn’t type anything there, either, just closed it. He even opened the window he had with Alvaro, last opened when he’d wished Alvaro congratulations for rejoining Real Madrid. He didn’t type anything there either.

He tossed his phone across the room, full strength. It landed silently in his laundry basket after rebounding off the towel hanging on the wall.

He got up and paced around his room until he got dizzy. He sat down in his chair but got up again a second later like it had burned his butt. His own reflection in his laptop screen scared him.

He went outside and sat on the couch but didn’t feel comfortable there, either.

He ended up in one of the weirdest places ever – curled up in the corner of the kitchen, in between the oven and the cupboard that held all his pots and pans. He counted from one to ten, and when that didn’t work for him in Italian or Spanish, he started reciting the planets, from Mercury to Neptune. And Pluto, because he got nostalgic. One time, two times. The third time, he calmed down by the time he got to Uranus.

 _Okay,_ he thought, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. _Okay. Paulo._

So Franco knew Paulo. He knew Paulo well enough to be able to predict what Paulo would do and how Paulo would feel. He knew how Paulo viewed the world.

But Paulo didn’t know all of that about Franco.

Suddenly everything came crashing down on Franco – not even _around_ him, but _on_ him. He half thought that his kitchen cabinets had detached from the walls and were tumbling down to break his bones.

He hadn’t fallen for Paulo because the bridge that he had with Paulo was only a one-way bridge.

Paulo had always been in love with Alvaro. There’d been that emotional wall right there that made Franco unable to connect with him. It was like trying to drive a car at a rubber wall and bouncing back every time. It was all so technical and it sounded so scientific, but. But it was a fact. Franco might have known Paulo very well, but Paulo didn’t _know him_. It was a shaky connection at best. The emotion part of Paulo’s brain had always been occupied with Alvaro. Franco had no space in it, even if he’d tried to create some.

Franco didn’t even have to think about his very first fuck buddy, way before Paulo, when he was back in Argentina and he’d just figured out he was very sexually charged but not romantically charged and needed somewhere to release all that energy. That had been, well. That had been purely sexual. He couldn’t even remember the guy’s name. They’d barely even talked.

Franco opened his eyes again, finally, with a sigh. So he was some kind of extreme demiromantic for whom things would only work if there was a deep, deep emotional connection.

Or maybe he had never met someone who was willing to put in as much effort as Isco had. Maybe _he_ had never put in as much effort himself. Whatever it was, it had made Franco think that romantic affection was something impossible for him.

Maybe Isco had only put in so much effort because he thought they would only ever be friends. He thought there was this line that Franco wouldn’t cross. So he thought he didn’t have to be afraid. And he hadn’t been wrong.

Little had he known that he would fall. Little had _Franco_ known that Franco would fucking fall, too. It was like they’d both gotten too close and nothing could counteract the attraction. It was like. Just like Isco had said. They were two galaxies colliding, past the point of no return. They had taken it for granted that it was impossible between them, and they took step after step without thinking of the consequences. They told themselves it was just a little bit. A little closer. And now they were crashing and burning.

Franco got up with a sigh. He trudged back to his room and dug his phone out of the laundry basket. He went to his table again and shook the mouse until the screen lit up.

The international break was on, so Isco was probably gallivanting somewhere with the Spanish team. Franco typed ‘Real Madrid schedule’ in the search bar.

Their next match was against Real Betis. _In Seville._

Franco got his phone out and scrolled to October 15th in his calendar app, praying that he’d be here when Isco came.

On October 15th, he was going to play Leganés. _In Madrid._

Franco slammed the phone on the table in frustration. The universe was playing a fucking trick on him. There was no other explanation for this. He was being fooled. Isco was going to be in Seville but Franco was going to be in Madrid. Franco was so fucking done.

He took off all his clothes and stepped under the freezing cold shower. He was suddenly just really exhausted. He felt like he never done so much thinking in like, two hours, ever before.

He glanced at the clock on the bathroom counter. It was six in the evening.

He had done five fucking hours of thinking.

Franco got out of the shower and put on fresh clothes. He sat down at the computer again and checked his hair in the reflection. He felt calmer, but still tired. He made himself a salad and sat in front of the TV to eat it. The channel he was on was playing some preview of Spain’s match in two days.

Franco pulled out his phone again to check what time the Real Madrid match was going to be played. It was scheduled for late evening. Franco’s match in Madrid was in the early afternoon.

He’d be back in Seville by the time Isco’s match was over.

Franco was slightly irked by how quickly things had happened. After all, he’d seemingly figured everything out within a quarter of a day. No one took that fast. It was a long process of learning and re-learning, discovering and re-discovering.

But a small part of him was like, fuck it. This was _Isco_. It was literally once in a lifetime for Franco. Franco didn’t want to wait any longer. And he also didn’t want to do it on the phone. So maybe he’d wait till the fifteenth. That gave him an extra week to think about it. It worked out. It was a win-win.

\------

On his first game back from the international break, Isco scored two goals.

Real Madrid ended up winning 6-1 against Betis and celebrated all the way back to the hotel. To his credit, Isco did join in the celebrations. He’d scored a brace, after all. But something about it made him a little uneasy. Maybe it was the fact that they were in Seville. Being in Seville without seeing Franco seemed a little. A little off.

Isco got into bed after his shower with a sigh. He was exhausted and he honestly just wanted to go to sleep but he couldn’t stop himself from picking up his phone and checking the other scores of the day.

Okay, so he was lying. He only saw the score for Sevilla’s game against Leganés, which they’d won 3-2.

Franco had scored the opening goal. Just one goal.

Isco started to smile because he had to admit he was a competitive little shit and so what if Franco had scored one goal? Isco had scored _two._ He’d _won_. Sure, he felt a little fond and a little proud, and Franco wasn’t even aware they were having a competition, but. _Isco had won_.

“Why’re you smiling?” Alvaro asked from across the room without looking up from his phone.

“I’m not,” Isco said.

“Watching something dirty?” Alvaro smirked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco said. He locked his phone and put it on the table before burrowing himself into the sheets.

“You’re going to sleep?” Alvaro asked. Isco didn’t reply, because the answer was obvious. A short silence from Alvaro, then, “It’s early. Stay up and talk to me.”

“Talk to yourself. I’m tired.”

Alvaro fiddled with his phone for a little longer. The rectangle of light on the ceiling was a little annoying.

“You’re no fun at all,” Alvaro finally said. He stood up and turned off the lights. “I’m going to find the others. You’re old and boring.”

And then he left the room, leaving Isco alone in bed. The click of the door shutting seemed to echo for ages.

Isco sighed again. He wriggled around in his blanket to find a comfortable position, but didn’t manage to find one. He grabbed his phone again and opened his text conversation with Franco, wanting to congratulate him for his goal.

As much as Isco was too stubborn to admit, he actually missed Franco. He missed Franco a bunch.

But he had to learn to be independent. It wasn’t like he was _dependent_ on Franco, but. Well, but he also _was_.

He dumped his phone on the table again and wrapped himself up tightly in the sheets. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

\------

Franco was already leaning on the wall at the end of the hallway by the time Alvaro got out of the room.

He started walking and met Alvaro in the middle of the corridor. “Thanks,” he said. He’d gotten the hotel and room number from Alvaro, who was strangely being a really good sport about all of it. He hadn’t even tried to argue when Franco asked him to leave so he could be alone with Isco. He’d even coordinated the timing perfectly so Isco wouldn’t be left alone for too long.

“Yeah,” Alvaro smiled. “Returning a favour. You know. With Paulo.”

Franco smiled back. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Hey. I just, uh. I want you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt him. Isco. I didn’t mean to hurt Isco.”

“I know,” Alvaro said. He gave Franco’s shoulder a squeeze. “But…but you know now, yeah? You know what you want?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Okay,” Alvaro said.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll go see which of my teammates want to take me in for now.”

“Thanks, Morata.”

Alvaro smiled, gave Franco’s shoulder another squeeze, and continued walking away.

Franco walked up to the door of Isco and Alvaro’s room and just. Just stood there for a while. A week had passed. A week of constantly thinking about it, constantly wondering if this was what Franco wanted. If this was what Isco wanted. A week of googling everything he could think about, reading the most painful stories and the most relatable ones. A week spent thinking of all the reasons why he’d never fallen for all those other men, thinking about all the painful half-relationships he’d gone through those years ago, no matter how much they hurt him to think about. Going through all the other aro spectrum links and reading each definition only to find that none of them suited him as much as demiromantic did. Franco really was at the extreme end of being demiromantic. People would say he was being super picky, but. Being super picky only got him the _best_.

And the best was Isco.

Franco raised his hand and knocked on the door twice.

There was no sound for a couple of moments, then the sound of feet shuffling as Isco started walking to the door. There was a loud sigh, and then the knob turning. Franco suddenly felt like he was going to vomit his heart out from his mouth.

“How the fuck could you forget your key–“ was all Isco managed to say before he realised the person at the door wasn’t Alvaro. He didn’t continue. He just stopped mid-sentence and blinked at Franco a few times before shifting his gaze to Franco’s feet to avoid Franco’s eyes.

Franco’s throat was suddenly dry, so he swallowed a few times. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was suddenly just. Just dumbstruck. The gentle yellow light in the room cast a peaceful glow over Isco’s face. All his features were highlighted – his bumpy forehead, the light shadow his eyelashes cast on his cheeks, the slightest curve of his cheekbones, his jutty chin, the curl of his hair that told Franco he’d been lying in bed. He looked amazing. He was the most beautiful person Franco had ever seen.

“Hey,” was all Franco managed to say, lamely.

Isco peered up at him through his impossibly long eyelashes. He blinked a few more times, but didn’t say anything, like he couldn’t bring himself to. Franco hated to think that he’d hurt Isco so much that Isco no longer knew what to say to him. Because Isco. Isco never once had nothing to say. He _always_ had something to say.

“I need to talk to you,” Franco said.

Isco nodded. It was more like a quick dip of the head, eye contact broken briefly like Isco just needed a break from Franco’s gaze. His jaw tightened, and then loosened a moment later. He didn’t invite Franco inside, understandably. So Franco just. Just tried to make things right.

“I’m sorry,” Franco started. “I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m sorry I told you I needed you to be away yet I kept bugging you about stuff. You were right. I was fighting it. Because it was all so foreign to me. I felt like…like I was being attacked.”

“I didn’t make you fall for me,” Isco said softly. His first words to Franco in – well, Franco had lost count of how many days.

“I know,” Franco whispered. “I know. And that’s what makes it worse, isn’t it? I fell for you, anyway. You didn’t try to make me, but…but it happened. And that’s what makes it count, don’t you think?”

Isco sighed. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Alarcon,” Franco said. “I just want to tell you that. That I figured it out. I figured out what I want. And I know it seems like a really long shot right now, but…but I want this. I want to be with you.”

Isco hadn’t been moving, but he noticeably froze. His shoulders hardened and his hand tightened around the doorframe. His head jolted up so he was face to face with Franco. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, before opening it again. And leaving it open.

“I don’t want it to be a competition anymore,” Franco said. “It was, wasn’t it? Who was more in control, or who was winning. Who was better at keeping their feelings hidden. And it just. It drove us closer and closer together. But I don’t want to fight with you anymore. It seemed like we were complete opposites. I used to think that, too. But you, Alarcon,” Franco gestured to Isco with his hand as he stopped to sigh. “Isco. Over all this time...after all this time, we turned out to be the same. We’re opposites only on the surface. We just, you know, just kept stepping closer and closer and opening up more and more and Alarcon, we’re not opposites. We’re the same. I keep thinking about it. You’re _me_ , just…just tinier and louder and…and more perfect. And we have so much fun together, Alarcon. You’re me, you want the same things as me and you’re everything I want to be and you’re perfect and I’m sorry it took me so long to see it. I’m sorry I fought it so hard.

“I know now that this entire thing made you face your biggest fear. It made you vulnerable. I faced my biggest fear, too. I lost fucking control, Alarcon. I lost control of everything. I was just. Just spiralling. And you are the only one who can save me. Let’s face it together, Alarcon. Face our biggest fears together. Because that’s the only way we’re going to make it out.”

No response, still. Isco swallowed nervously again. Franco wanted to hold Isco’s head in his hands. He wanted to kiss Isco’s face and tell Isco it was going to be okay, it was all going to be okay, he just needed to open up again and let himself go like he used to. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“You were right about us being galaxies,” Franco continued desperately, feeling like he’d already said everything he came to say and this was his very last chance. “But you missed out one thing. Sure, we’re far, far away from each other, looking at each other from a distance. But we’re on a collision course. It may take us billions and billions of years, but when it finally happens – Alarcon, when we collide, you know it will be the most spectacular sight in the universe.”

Isco still said nothing, just stood there and stared at Franco in shock. He stared at Franco until tears started pooling in his eyes, and _God_ , Franco had no idea what to make of that. He lifted a hand, intending to help wipe them off, but was suddenly afraid that he was crossing a line. Suddenly afraid that Isco would recoil. Franco’s hand hovered over Isco’s cheek for a while before he removed it and stuffed both his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

Neither of them said a word for the longest time. They just stood there, either side of the doorway, not touching, just standing there. Franco felt tears pricking the back of his eyes, because. Because this was a no. Isco was trying to say no, but he didn’t know how to. He was trying so hard, bless his soul, and this was why Franco liked him so much.

But it also meant that all the thinking, the excruciating excavation of his past that Franco had done these past weeks – it had all amounted to nothing. Franco finally knew what he was and what he wanted, but it was too late. He was baring his entire heart, putting everything out on the table, but he was going to get nothing back.

He honestly didn’t blame Isco. Not one bit. He wasn’t even angry with Isco for not saying a single word in response to everything Franco had said. Isco was hurt. Franco got it. And there seemed to be nothing else Franco could do to turn this around. Maybe, after all those false endings they’d had, it was finally time for the real one.

Franco turned his face to the ground just in time so Isco wouldn’t see the tears fall from his eyes. They gave two little barely-audible plops as they hit the carpeted floor by Franco’s feet.

He swivelled to his side quickly and started walking down the corridor, away from Isco. He couldn’t bear to look at Isco for another second. He was willing to give his heart to this man. This tiny, amazing man. So tiny that Franco often wondered how all the beauty could fit in him. The first man Franco had ever loved. But he wasn’t willing to take it.

The door didn’t close behind Franco. Franco just continued walking. He just wanted to get far away and cry. So Isco didn’t want him. It was fine. Franco was going to be fine.

Then Isco suddenly called out, “Franco, wait.”

Franco’s heart swelled up with hope so suddenly and rapidly that he felt like he was going to have a heart attack right there. He turned around slowly and saw Isco wipe his tears hastily, half his body leaning out of the room, one of his hands still holding the door open. He met Franco’s gaze from across the length of the corridor, about two meters away.

“I want to light up the universe with you,” Isco said.

And Franco just. He just took a few long strides and landed right in front of Isco again, and this time there was the tiniest smile on Isco’s face and. And Franco was so fucking in love.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

Isco nodded.

Franco took one final step forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Isco, feeling and hearing the both of them giving coordinated sighs of relief as their chests crashed together in the hug.

“Really?” Franco asked, pushing Isco’s head more tightly against his chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Isco said softly into the fabric of Franco’s hoodie, right where Franco’s heart was. “I was as scared as you, Vazquez. I wanted to run away from myself. But no matter where I ran…you were there.”

“I’m so happy right now,” Franco sobbed into Isco’s hair.

“I can’t breathe,” Isco informed him.

Franco let go of the hug to hold Isco by the cheeks. He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently on Isco’s, and his heart did a fucking violent somersault and _God_ , Franco was in so fucking deep. Isco’s lips parted to welcome his, the pair finding their rhythm so easily and quickly it was like they had never been apart. Franco felt so. He felt so _at home_. He felt like he could be himself, just so _thoroughly himself_ , around Isco. Like a star slowly radiating away its outer layers, leaving its core behind. Because that was exactly what he had done. Isco had dug his way right through everything and to Franco’s core.

Isco’s arms wrapped themselves around Franco’s waist and tugged until Franco was inside the room and the door could be closed. He pulled away from the kiss but didn’t take his eyes off Franco, just. Just gazed up at Franco with this dreamy smile on his face like he couldn’t really believe this was happening. To be fair, Franco couldn’t believe it was happening, either.

“You’re so amazing, Francisco Alarcon,” Franco whispered, running his fingers down Isco’s beard line.

Isco’s smile grew. He ran his thumb along Franco’s bottom lip, his eyes covering Franco’s face like he was marvelling at it. Frankly, it made Franco kind of embarrassed.

“Are you indirectly calling yourself amazing, too?” Isco asked. “I mean, you said yourself that I’m just a tinier you.”

Franco laughed. “I’m not a fucking narcissist. I meant that like…like we’re so alike. Inside. In a way that you don’t notice. And you missed the most important part. You’re a more perfect me.”

Isco reached up and kissed Franco again, softly. Franco found Isco’s hands with his and threaded his fingers gently in between Isco’s. His skin was as soft as Franco remembered. His hands were as tiny as Franco remembered. And now Franco could hold them any time he wanted.

“So…” Isco murmured against Franco’s lips. “What do we do now? Like, fuck, or something?”

Franco burst into laughter again. Of course the first thought that came to Isco’s mind was fucking. They’d spent most of their time together doing that, anyway. But this was it. This was the Isco he knew and loved, the Isco before Franco had hurt him. The Isco before Franco had made him close up on himself. Happy, carefree, direct as fuck Isco. He was back and Franco was never going to let him go. He didn’t even need to have sex with Isco anymore. They were far beyond that. He just wanted to be around Isco.

“No,” he said. “I just wanna…I wanna be with you. Just, talk, or something.”

So Isco sat him down on the edge of his bed. He took Franco’s hands in his and gently rubbed his thumbs in circles on the back of Franco’s hands. He waited for Franco to speak.

But Franco just didn’t know where to start. Franco was bad at talking about himself. Isco seemed to know that. His eyes darted around Franco’s face for a while before he decided to help Franco out. “So how…how did you figure it out?”

“I…” Franco started, but then stopped. “It’s gonna sound stupid.”

“No,” was all Isco said.

“I googled it,” Franco paused, but there was no dramatic reaction from Isco, so he continued. “I googled ‘aromantic.’ To see where it led me to.”

“And?”

“It turns out…turns out there’s a thing called the aromantic spectrum. And…like. I’m on it.”

Franco held his breath, half-expecting Isco to start laughing at him.

But Isco didn’t. He just nodded and said, “Mmhmm, yeah?”

And he waited for Franco to continue. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t make some distasteful joke about Franco being _‘on the spectrum.’_ He was willing to _listen_ and try to _understand_ like all the numerous times he’d done so before and in that very moment Franco was reminded yet again why he had fallen so hard for Isco.

Franco wrapped his arms around Isco again and pulled Isco violently against his chest as Isco gave a little surprised gasp. Franco was just. Just so overwhelmed. He couldn’t believe that in this world existed a guy as perfect for him as Isco was.

Isco gave a little laugh but didn’t pull away, just tucked his head under Franco’s chin like he liked being where he was. He stuck one of his hands into the pocket of Franco’s hoodie and jiggled it a little. “What’s the aro spectrum?”

“It’s like…” Franco shrugged. “It’s kinda like, in the middle? People who don’t completely identify with being traditionally romantic but they’re also not like, aromantic. Because they feel romantic attraction, too. Like…like I feel for you.”

Isco tilted his head upwards to smile at Franco. “So a special kind of aromantic?”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. He smoothened Isco’s hair back on his head. “A special kind of aromantic.”

“What’s it called? Like…what are you?”

“I think…I mean, I guess I’m demiromantic.”

“What’s that?”

“It said that demiromantics need to form a strong emotional bond with someone before they fall for that person.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled and Franco was so fucking fond so he squeezed Isco even more tightly against him until his cheek was all squished. “I guess…yeah. I guess that’s you? I mean, I’m not telling you what you are, but –“

“Yeah,” Franco cut him off before he could start blaming himself again. He pressed his lips on the top of Isco’s hair. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re being really touchy right now,” Isco said.

“Well, do you like it?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then who the fuck cares?”

“Okay, I don’t,” Isco laughed. He got up and tugged at Franco’s arm until Franco stood up. Then he crawled under the sheets and patted the space next to him. “C’mon.”

“I’m dirty,” Franco said.

Isco shook his head like he didn’t care. He patted the mattress again.

So Franco crawled in and managed to fit himself into the tiny space on the single bed, which left him face to face with Isco, breathing on each other’s cheeks. Isco took one of Franco’s hands and slid his fingers in between Franco’s, and _shit_ , Franco suddenly felt like his chest was going to explode. He shut his eyes in an attempt to pull himself together but only failed when Isco planted his lips gently on Franco’s cheek.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Isco whispered.

Franco smiled a shaky smile. He could feel his cheeks trembling. And his hands, although he tried not to make that too obvious. But literally all of his body parts were shaking. “I’ve missed you, weirdo.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Isco said. “Softie.”

And there it was. The teasing was officially back. And Franco was just. He was so relieved and happy and he wanted to just lie there forever.

“So,” Franco said, reaching over and pulling Isco close to his chest. They fit snugly on the bed but somehow it felt more comfortable all pressed up against Isco than having his own space. “We’re in a relationship?”

He felt Isco smile against the bare patch of skin that peeked out of the collar of Franco’s hoodie. “I’d like to think so.”

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” Franco whispered.

A short pause from Isco. “You’re not doing so bad,” he said encouragingly.

“Alarcon. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Isco shook his head without looking up. “I’m sorry if I…if you think…if I made you do this.”

“You didn’t. Don’t say that. I started having these feelings way before you even told me.”

“Yeah?” Isco said, pulling away and smiling at Franco. “When?”

Franco opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again, because, well. Dubai seemed like ages ago and Franco wasn’t even sure if Isco remembered their talk that night. So he just placed his hand on Isco’s cheek, realising and getting distracted by the fact that he could cover half of Isco’s face with just one hand alone.

Isco’s cheek dimpled against Franco’s palm. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his fingers landing on Franco’s jaw.

Franco realised it was a _‘you don’t want to tell me and it’s okay ‘_ and not a _‘you can tell me anything and it’s okay,’_ and he was momentarily confused because he didn’t know which one he would’ve preferred. They both seemed equally nice. They both seemed like what Franco liked about Isco in the first place. And Isco looked so fucking eager and Franco felt like he had no other choice but to pour his entire heart out.

“Dubai,” he ended up blurting. “When we talked about our fears.”

Isco’s smile grew until it turned into a laugh. “Yeah?” he giggled. “You know, when you asked me. When you asked me what my biggest fear was, I was actually really surprised?”

“Really?”

“I mean, you _had_ to know I’d ask you back. Which means you were willing to answer it.”

Franco sighed. Isco knew him better than he even knew himself. “So I dug my own hole, then.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, I,” Franco sighed again. He gently pinched Isco’s cheek. “When did you?”

“I don’t know, way before that,” Isco said. “You remember…that night we fought, the night before you babysat Junior? And you held my hand for the first time and asked me if I felt anything, and I said no, I didn’t?”

“Yeah?”

“I was lying. I felt a teeny bit.”

Franco smiled. An involuntary smile. “That was really early on.”

Isco shrugged. “I guess I’m not demiromantic.”

“So…are you,” Franco started slowly, gesturing vaguely at the air above Isco’s cheek. “Like…do you like guys? Or like, is it just me?”

“I don’t know,” Isco said, and his eyes just suddenly turned from two bright pools of earnestness to two inky jewels of anxiousness. “I haven’t figured it out.”

“Do you want to?” Franco asked. “I mean, does it matter? Would you be okay just…just living with it without having a label to put on it?”

“Yeah,” Isco said, his voice catching in his throat, coming out as a soft gasp of relief. “Yeah, I’d be okay with that. I mean, that’s just…how I’ve always done it. You know? Just, like. Yeah.”

“Like fuck whatever,” Franco finished.

“Yeah,” Isco smiled.

“Then it doesn’t matter if you figure it out or not. As long as you’re okay with it.”

Isco’s lips landed on Franco’s again, and Franco just. He missed them. Even though he’d kissed them like ten minutes ago, he missed them.

“So,” Isco murmured, his lips finding the corner of Franco’s mouth. “I heard you scored a goal.”

“Mmhmm,” Franco smiled. “Why are you stalking me?”

“I’m not stalking you. Anyway, I scored two goals, so I win.”

Franco rolled his eyes. Of course Isco was still a competitive little shit. “Well, I got a new boyfriend and he’s perfect so I win.”

“Fuck you,” Isco punched him in the shoulder. “Stop flirting with me.”

“Isn’t a relationship just like, flirting for an extended period of time?”

“Yeah, yeah, you got a boyfriend for three minutes and suddenly you’re a relationship guru.”

Franco kissed him again to make him shut up. He felt strangely calm. In the balance. It didn’t seem like they were going to be tipped over and end up just having sex again like they’d done all those times before. Like Isco had said, Pavlov’s dogs.

“How’d you make it here so quickly?” Isco asked. “I thought you were in Madrid.”

“We took the train back in the evening. I came straight here.”

“Don’t you think it seems a little funny? Like, me being in Seville and you being in Madrid.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Franco smiled. “I thought the universe was playing a trick on me.”

Isco smiled back, and then froze. His mouth fell open adorably. “Wait, what do you mean by you came straight here? How did you even know I was here?”

“Uh,” Franco shrugged. “Alvaro told me.”

“That nosy little shit,” Isco grumbled.

“I made him tell me. I had to see you. The universe may have been playing a trick on me but it made up for it by letting me score a goal and letting you score two. And that was, like, the final answer to everything.”

“I scored because I’m good. Not because the universe made me.”

“Okay, okay,” Franco laughed. “Don’t have to be so defensive about it.”

“I’m not being defensive about it,” Isco said, but then stopped talking about it because he realised he wasn’t helping himself in any way. “Hey. Vazquez. I’m sorry I made you feel attacked.”

“It’s over,” Franco said softly. “And it doesn’t really matter whether I feel attacked or not. As long as I’m with you, even if I feel like these feelings are attacking me…I just feel complete, you know? And that’s all that matters to me.”

Isco buried his face in Franco’s neck again, his breaths sending warm gusts of air over Franco’s skin. Franco could feel Isco’s eyelashes sweep up and down gently for a few times, before they settled when Isco finally closed his eyes.

Franco closed his eyes, too, and just soaked it all in. Isco’s lips subtly moving to kiss Franco’s collarbone. His hand on Franco’s waist, heavy but comfortable. His beard rustling in the thick collar of Franco’s hoodie. His hair in between Franco’s fingers, soft and smelling like mint eucalyptus. Franco wondered how long a tiny bottle of that could last for Isco. Maybe Isco stole – or _borrowed_ – more frequently from Franco than Franco realised.

With each passing second, Franco was surer and surer that this decision was the right one. He shouldn’t have fought it. He should have been like Isco from day one and embraced it. He was lucky that Isco had waited for him. That Isco felt the same way as he did.

He pressed his lips softly on the top of Isco’s head. He was so, so, so, _so fucking happy_. It didn’t matter that he’d had a panic attack more than once and was made to re-evaluate his entire life. If this was what he got in return, then, well. Franco would relive it a million times.

\------

Alvaro returned to the room a half-hour later. Actually, it might have been longer than that. Isco didn’t really know. An entire year could’ve passed while he was lying there watching Franco sleep and he wouldn’t have cared. Because Franco looked mesmerising. Even though he wasn’t even _doing_ anything. Every single atom of Franco was beautiful.

Anyway, Alvaro was everything but quiet as he entered. He fiddled noisily with his keycard at the door, jiggled it open, and then walked in with his feet stomping loudly on the carpeted floor. Isco was lying with his face a few inches away from Franco’s, one hand in Franco’s and the other curled up awkwardly on his own chest. Franco’s eyes were closed. Isco thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, tired after all the rushing around he’d done. But he looked so peaceful. Isco never wanted to take his eyes off him.

“Awww,” Alvaro said loudly as Isco saw him stop at the foot of Isco’s bed from the corner of his eye. He took out his phone and pointed it at Isco and Franco. “Gotta take a pic for Paulo.”

“Shhhh,” Isco said frantically, turning to glare at Alvaro. “He’s asleep.”

But he turned to Franco and saw that Franco’s eyes were suddenly open and gazing fondly at Isco. He jumped a little, and then felt his cheeks turn red in embarrassment. He turned to Alvaro again. “See, you woke him up!”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Franco said with a completely straight face. “Fuck, Alarcon, you gotta improve your Franco-is-asleep game.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco said.

Franco laughed and slowly rolled out of bed. He straightened his hoodie as he stood up, his gaze flitting between Isco and Alvaro. Then he shrugged and said, “I should probably go.”

Isco propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Franco walked to the door, softly thanking Alvaro as he walked past him. He turned and smiled lovingly at Isco before disappearing out the door. He probably needed some time to get used to this entire boyfriend thing, because he looked confused about what he was supposed to do.

Isco turned to Alvaro, then to the door. Then he stood up and hurried to the door himself, catching it with his hand before it shut. “Hey,” he called from the door. Franco was less than ten steps away. “Vazquez.”

“Go after him, you idiot!” Alvaro’s voice floated out of the room.

Franco turned around and gave Isco a small smile. He was being strangely calm about the whole Alvaro-barging-in thing. In fact, he looked pretty scared standing in the corridor. Isco propped the door open with the latch and walked over to Franco.

“I, uh,” Franco started, lifting a hand to scratch his head. “I don’t…really know what to do.”

Isco reached over and held Franco’s hands, just by his side, intertwining their fingers. He stepped closer to Franco, almost into Franco’s chest, close enough so their noses and foreheads were touching – made easier by Franco instinctively leaning downwards to meet him.

“Maybe you can start by kissing me goodnight,” Isco whispered.

A smile appeared on Franco’s face again as his eyes fluttered shut. He closed the gap between their faces and kissed Isco, his lips slowly working Isco’s open. He let go of Isco’s hands and moved to cup Isco’s cheeks, and Isco peeked a little to see this thoroughly focused look on his face as he shoved his tongue into Isco’s mouth and made Isco’s knees go all wobbly. He obviously wasn’t aware that he wasn’t supposed to french his boyfriend _in public_. But then again, even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have cared.

“Good night,” Isco whispered when he was finally allowed a breath of air.

Franco ran his thumb over Isco’s hairline. His gazed travelled over every inch of Isco’s face as his lips twitched upwards again. “Uh, so,” he said softly. “Uh. Do you wanna…come back to my place?”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. Franco was learning fast.

“Yeah. I’ll drive you back first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, let me get my things.”

So Isco grabbed his wallet and phone and keycard and left the room before Alvaro could make any more unnecessary comments. He took Franco’s hand again as they started walking. He was _holding Franco’s hand_. He didn’t like to admit it, but Isco had dreamt of this since a long, long time ago.

“So we gonna fuck, or something?” Isco asked as they got into the car.

“Why do you keep asking me that? Do _you_ wanna fuck?”

“No, I just thought, like….that’s what we do.”

“Doesn’t matter that much anymore,” Franco said. “Yeah?”

Isco nodded. Franco was back in control. He was in control of his own life again and Isco couldn’t be any happier for him, he couldn’t be any prouder. He laughed as Franco grabbed a cap from the glove compartment and shoved it on Isco’s head. “In case you don’t want anyone to see you.”

“So this isn’t a booty call?” Isco asked, just for fun.

“It’s not a booty call unless you want it to be,” Franco said, and then his jaw dropped open as he realised. “That’s it! That’s a relationship. Extended periods of flirting and booty calls.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder. “I’ll make you one of those signs that says ‘relationship advice 2€.’”

Franco ignored him. “I just wanna be with you,” he said. “And I don’t know, talk. Listen to you talk.”

So that was exactly what they did. They took a shower together – _yes,_ another shower for Isco because now he was _dirty_ – and got into bed together. And Franco just lay there, half sliding off his pillow because he wanted to be so close to Isco, and listened to Isco speak. Isco told him about everything that had happened over the past month or so, as the both of them traded languid kisses every few sentences. He talked about Junior. About Sonia. About Junior again. About Junior mostly. And about himself, too, because Franco specially requested to hear it. Frankly, there was nothing much. But it made Franco smile, so.

Honestly, the past month had flown by for Isco. All the days had blended together because Isco had spent all of them pining for Franco. But for this end result – it was all worth it.

“So…” Isco whispered when there was a lull in conversation. “If you’re demiromantic, does that mean…this means that your feelings for me…”

“It means I really, really, really, really like you,” Franco finished in a shy whisper.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. That had been what he was trying to go for.

“I mean, I’m not saying the normal kind of attraction is lame, but,” Franco shrugged. “Just…just that for me, to feel like that, it means a lot. It didn’t happen easily. So it means a lot.”

Isco smiled. That had been what he was going for, again. He placed his hand on Franco’s cheek and gave it a squeeze. “I really, really, really, really like you, too,” he said.

Franco suddenly reached over and curled his arms around Isco, pulling him violently against Franco’s chest. He kissed Isco sloppily on his lips, and then his nose and his forehead, before using his hand to push the back of Isco’s head until his face was nestled comfortably in the crook of Franco’s neck. And Isco got it. He knew that this was still completely new to Franco and Franco was scared he would lose control again and he didn’t know how to say it. Franco was fucking amazing at putting things into words, but what was even better was the fact that he _never needed words_ to convey exactly what he was feeling. Franco had always been more physically communicative. Isco got that and Isco loved that. He was the words and Franco was the actions.

So he breathed softly against Franco’s neck, “We’ll take it real slow, yeah?”

Franco nodded. He pressed his face into Isco’s hair, his hand ruffling it so the smell could waft straight into his nose. “And you should stop stealing my shampoo.”

Isco laughed. He was never going to stop stealing Franco’s things. He wanted Franco’s presence to always be around him. If he had a choice, he’d never ever let Franco out of his sight. Sure, their relationship had gone a completely screwed-up, opposite way from how relationships were supposed to go; they’d gone from fuck buddies to friends to lovers. But it didn’t matter. However difficult the process had been, all that mattered was where they’d ended up. Together.

That night, Isco fell asleep in Franco’s arms for the very first time.


	18. So, What Would You Little Maniacs Like To Do First?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo friends!  
> I'm glad you guys liked the previous chapter, hehehehheheheehe ;) And some good news (??) - I am pretty sure I'll have to extend the fic because...as you know, I'm a rambler and I don't think I can fit the rest into 5 chapters. Which is a pity, because I really wanted it to be 22 chapters because I'm a cheesy idiot and their numbers are 22 and I love them (yes...the next logical move will be to make it 44 chapters, hmmmm). I've added 5 chapters for now, idk if it will be enough or I'll add 5 more. But anyway, hope you'll stick around :)
> 
> Thank you all so so much for your nice comments, they really keep me going and mean a lot to me, thank you <3
> 
> PS: OUR BOY ISCO DID SO WELL ON SATURDAY, DID YOU GUYS SEEEEEEEEEEEEE  
> (Franco and I blesst him with the previous chapter, don't deny it)
> 
> Title is from Good Grief by Bastille.

Isco half expected to wake up to a morning blowjob from Franco, but alas.

He woke up still curled up in Franco’s arms instead, his head tucked under Franco’s chin. Franco’s arms were wrapped protectively around him. He fidgeted slightly when Isco awoke, his cheek messing Isco’s hair up further.

Isco gently removed himself from Franco’s arms and turned to face the ceiling. The morning light was beginning to turn blue through the white translucent curtains, meaning it was probably almost time for Isco to get back to the hotel to meet the rest of the team.

He turned his head towards Franco. He was still asleep – well, Isco thought he was still asleep, who the fuck knew if Franco was asleep or not – with this really angelic look on his face. His hand had shifted to rest on Isco’s abdomen.

It was actually really nice waking up to Franco like that. Even though Isco had done it many times before, this time just seemed like. Like Isco was in heaven. The mild sunlight starting to stream into the room only helped that case. Everything seemed so quiet and peaceful in that moment, before the beautiful chaos that came with Franco being awake.

Isco rolled back towards Franco and bundled Franco up in his arms. He felt Franco start to become a little restless with all the movement, but he curled into Isco’s chest and Isco smiled.

It broke his heart a little when he had to wake Franco up because he had to leave or he’d be late. “Hey,” he whispered into Franco’s hair. “Vazquez.”

“Hmm?” Franco murmured.

“I gotta go.”

Franco gave a little whine. He opened his eyes slightly, just enough for him to find Isco’s head and press his lips on Isco’s. He didn’t even hesitate like Isco had expected him to do before remembering that they were a couple now. It was like it was all completely normal to him, despite him never doing this before. It warmed Isco’s heart.

“Gross, morning breath,” Franco said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco said. “You’ve got it too.”

Franco sighed and rolled out of bed, dragging his feet into the bathroom. Isco heard him start to brush his teeth sluggishly.

“You don’t have to go with me,” Isco called. “I can take a taxi.”

Franco poked his head out from behind the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “I should.”

Isco got up and went into the bathroom, stopping behind Franco and facing the mirror. He was almost completely hidden behind Franco, so he wrapped his arms around Franco and pressed his cheek into Franco’s back.

“Don’t do it just because you feel like you should,” Isco whispered. “Just do whatever you want.”

Franco paused for a moment before bending over and rinsing his mouth, causing Isco to be lifted slightly off the ground like a little koala. He straightened his back again and grabbed Isco’s wrist with his wet hand, pulling Isco next to him.

“I don’t know how to do this boyfriend thing,” he said. “I mean, yet.”

“There’s no one ‘boyfriend thing.’ You do it however you want.”

“So…how do you like it?”

“Just the way we were. Exactly the way we were.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco smiled. He liked Franco just the way he was. It didn’t matter what he did or did not do for Isco. “I mean, that was how we had so much fun, wasn’t it?”

Franco reflected Isco’s smile. He looked relieved. He grabbed Isco’s face in his hands and leaned in to kiss him, but stopped barely an inch away from Isco’s lips. “Wait, you gotta brush your teeth first before I kiss you.”

Isco laughed. He punched Franco in the shoulder to get him out of the way, and Franco dug in the cabinet and found a disposable toothbrush for Isco. Franco _did_ learn really quickly. He’d already taken his first step by not just kissing Isco because that was what he thought boyfriends did, and instead doing whatever the hell he wanted.

“Fucking tease,” Isco said, anyway.

Franco watched fondly as Isco brushed his teeth and changed out of Franco’s oversized clothes into his clothes from last night. He took Isco to the door in his pyjamas and told Isco they should hug it out and kiss it out before they got outside.

So they did. They stood at Franco’s front door just doing some standing-up cuddling and making out lazily, and Isco completely lost track of time and didn’t realise it was already twenty minutes to nine until his phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from Alvaro.

_Downstairs in 20 minutes._

“Fuck, I gotta go,” Isco said, pulling away from Franco and grabbing Franco’s hand to drag him to the car. “Wait, do you wanna change out of your pyjamas? Or wait, never mind, I’ll just take a cab.”

“No, I’ll take you. I drive fast.”

“You come fast, too.”

“Fuck you, Alarcon,” Franco managed to slap the back of Isco’s head as he climbed into the passenger seat laughing.

The ride to the hotel was quick, as Franco had promised. They stopped a couple of meters before the hotel entrance and Franco took out another cap from his glove compartment and put it on his own head. Which didn’t make sense at first, but started to when Franco leaned over and kissed Isco.

The kiss got much deeper than Isco was expecting, though, and the both of them ended up with fumbling hands and awkwardly twisted bodies, leaning over the gearshift just to get more of each other. Hands discreetly slipping under the hems of each other’s t-shirts. Lips wet and tongues exploring, teeth nibbling gently on jawlines. Harsh, wet breaths on each other’s faces.

“Fuck,” Franco said. It was more of a whine. A really aroused whine. If Isco had been wondering where all their usual sexual energy had disappeared to the previous night – well, he had his answer. “Alarcon.”

“Stop jabbing your fucking cap in my face,” Isco complained, shoving the rim of Franco’s cap sideways.

“That’s what you said about my dick, too,” was Franco’s reply, before he burst into loud laughter.

“Fuck off,” Isco joined in the laughter as he shoved Franco aside. His phone started buzzing again in his pocket. Another text from Alvaro.

_You’re gonna be in trouble. Stop making out with him._

“Shit,” Isco muttered. “How does Alvaro know we’re making out?”

“He doesn’t,” Franco said, but even he looked shocked.

They stared at each other for a while, wide-eyed, before Isco finally said. “Okay, I should go or I’ll get into trouble and then you’ll have to take care of me for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t be fucking dramatic.”

Isco laughed. He gave Franco one last kiss on the lips, softly so they wouldn’t, you know, get completely carried away again. “Bye, Franny.”

“Bye,” Franco said softly. Hesitantly. He didn’t seem to really get how goodbyes worked.

“I’ll text you,” Isco said, getting out of the car and shutting the door. Franco rolled down the window so he could hear Isco. “Or call you.”

“How about both?” Franco suggested.

“Yeah, I’ll text you while talking to you on the phone,” Isco said.

Franco raised a middle finger at Isco through the windshield as Isco jogged to the hotel entrance. He blew a kiss at Franco, though, and Franco started fucking blushing and Isco wanted to laugh but at the same time wrap him up and never let him go forever. Isco just. Just felt so comfortable about this whole thing. It was one thing to actually feel so deeply about Franco. It was another to feel so deeply about Franco _and_ be able to show it all to him. And he knew they were going to grow together and learn together and Isco looked forward to that more than he had ever looked forward to anything in his life.

He got to the room with just enough time left to stuff all his things into his suitcase and change into his Real Madrid gear for the train back to Madrid. Alvaro was jabbering something in the background but Isco ignored him. They got downstairs to breakfast just in time – luckily, because if not, Alvaro was going to bite Isco’s fucking head off.

“Hey,” Isco said when they were finally settled down with their food. “How’d you know we were making out?”

Alvaro narrowed his eyes briefly like he was disgusted. Then he said, deadpan, “I didn’t know you were making out. I guessed.”

“Fuck,” Isco said. He had to stop falling for Alvaro’s dumb traps.

His phone buzzed again with a text when he boarded the bus to the train station. A text from Franco.

 _Having a boyfriend’s pretty cool,_ it said.

Isco sent him a green emoji heart.

 _Gross_ , was Franco’s reply.

Isco laughed loudly and everyone turned to stare at him for a while but he didn’t really care. He had a feeling he was in for the ride of his lifetime.

\------

Just within the next week, Franco realised he missed Isco’s stupid face.

Sure, he texted Isco every five minutes, only taking a break when they both slept. But he missed Isco being next to him. He missed hearing Isco’s booming, deafening laughter which made even the worst jokes funny. He missed an endless list of Isco’s attributes. An endless list that he had in his head, just tucked away safely. It just. It was just so wholesome for Franco to be able to _admit_ that without being scared.

 _I miss your dumb face_ , he texted Isco.

 _Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww,_ Isco replied, with the w’s lasting like, five rows. _El Mudo misses me._

_When can I see your dumb face?_

_Booty call?_ was the reply, then, _‘Relationships are just extended periods of flirting and booty calls’ – Franco Vazquez, 2016._

_Fuck you._

_I miss your ass, too._

_That’s not correct, I’m the one missing your ass. You miss my dick._

_Shut the fuck up. You’re disgusting._

_You like disgusting._

A very long pause, followed by, _I do._

Franco laughed. He could almost hear Isco sigh in defeat. _So when can we meet?_

_You know, I can’t believe we still haven’t had sex._

_Hence my question._

_Smooth_ , Isco said. _Monday?_

So Monday it was, and Franco’s match ended earlier on Sunday evening so he was going to be the one to catch the Monday morning train to Madrid.

After Franco’s match had ended on Sunday it was barely dinnertime and Franco realised he could still catch the last train to Madrid.

So he did.

He arrived at Isco’s doorstep a half hour after midnight and started knocking on the door until Isco opened it. He knocked on it for five whole minutes.

“What the fuck,” was how Isco greeted him.

Franco stepped inside and took off his shoes. He put his bag on the floor next to them and opened his arms. “C’mon, no warm welcome for your Franny?”

Isco’s lips morphed into a smile. He walked straight into Franco’s arms and pressed his face into Franco’s chest with a soft sigh. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” Franco whispered. He pressed his nose into Isco’s hair. “Missed your cute butt.”

“My cute butt,” Isco repeated, laughing. “I missed your cute everything.”

Franco grasped Isco’s chin and tilted it upwards so he could kiss Isco. It was soft and gentle and slow but for some reason sent electricity sizzling through all of Franco’s veins. His arms snaked around Isco’s waist and pulled Isco tightly against him, and Franco was pretty sure Isco was on his tiptoes, which actually made him laugh a little.

Isco pulled away, not to pout at the laugh but to tilt his head towards his room. Asking the question that was on both their minds.

So Franco hoisted him up by his thighs and almost sprinted into the room with Isco laughing softly over his shoulder, shutting the door softly before Bubu could follow them inside. He put Isco down on the bed gently, earning himself an amused little chuckle and a comment about how he was suddenly gentler than he had ever been before.

“Well, do you like me rough or gentle?” he asked as he crawled over Isco.

“That’s not something you _ask_ someone,” Isco said.

“It is.”

Isco gave a soft, happy sigh. He grabbed Franco’s face in both his hands and kissed Franco on the lips. “My boyfriend’s a big flirt.”

“Shut up,” Franco murmured against his lips. “So what is it?”

“I like you both ways.”

Franco smiled. He decided maybe he’d be gentle with Isco this time. You know, as a commemoration.

He started to unzip his jeans and only realised when he’d taken them off that this meant he was dirty. He glanced at Isco from his kneeling position in between Isco’s legs and saw Isco flinging his t-shirt on the ground. As their gazes met, Franco started, “I’m dir–“

“Shut up,” Isco interrupted. He kicked Franco’s jeans off the foot of the bed and reached for Franco’s sweater to pull him nearer. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.”

Franco couldn’t help but laugh. Okay, so maybe his plan to be gentle was going to be thwarted by Isco and his perpetual horniness. Then again, Franco was also perpetually horny, so. Whatever.

He slowly lowered himself over Isco again and rubbed their crotches together over Isco’s boxers as Isco tugged Franco’s sweater off his head, teasingly murmuring how this was the twenty first white sweater Franco had. Franco thrust his hips harder, which shut Isco up immediately. He tugged Isco’s waistband downwards and saw that Isco was going commando, and _holy fuck_ , Franco was just. He felt like he could just come immediately.

“You were going to be all ready for me when I came tomorrow morning, weren’t you?” Franco whispered.

“Mmhmm,” Isco smiled.

Franco pulled the shorts down Isco’s thighs and had Isco’s dick just spring up at him. “Jesus, Alarcon,” Franco mumbled as Isco laughed. Franco tugged at the shorts until they were off Isco’s ankles. Then he ran his hands all the way up from Isco’s feet to his hips, caressing every bit of skin he could get his fingers on. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot.”

“I want you,” Isco said breathlessly. “Vazquez. I want you right now.”

And Franco concurred. He lowered himself on Isco, his entire body weight resting on Isco’s sturdy frame, and started thrusting his hips against Isco’s, rubbing their naked crotches together. Isco gave a soft moan followed by a little mutter of ‘shit,’ the breath of relief on Franco’s skin identical to the wind rushing through his veins. He wrapped Isco’s thighs firmly around his waist so every movement counted. He moved his lips to Isco’s neck, where his beard ended, and nibbled on the skin there. Isco responded exactly how Franco had wanted him to – he crossed his feet behind Franco’s back and wrapped his arms around Franco’s neck, lifting himself off the bed to maintain the friction and just hanging off Franco like a sloth hanging upside down off a branch.

Franco rolled over so Isco was on top. He heard Isco gasp, and then try to readjust himself on Franco’s abdomen. He tore himself away from Franco for a moment to sit up and catch his breath, his hands resting on Franco’s chest as he just. Just gazed adoringly at Franco.

“Come sit on my face,” was Franco’s invitation.

Isco obliged, but instead of just getting up on Franco’s face he turned himself the other way and backed up all the way into Franco’s face before bending over again and lowering his lips over Franco’s dick.

And _okay_ , fuck, Franco had done way too many things in his life, sexually, but if there was just one thing he could say he’d never done – that was to 69 with someone.

“Shit,” Franco mumbled into Isco’s butt crack. Not because he wanted Isco to stop, but. Just. Just because.

He heard Isco give this loud slurping sound before sliding his lips off Franco’s dick with a pop. “You okay?” he breathed against the bare skin of Franco’s v-line.

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. “Yeah, I just. I’ve never done this.”

“Seriously?” Isco twisted his neck around so he could see Franco.

“Have you?” Franco asked.

Isco shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Isco asked impatiently. “You don’t have to do anything different. Okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Franco said. He tried to keep his hips on the bed as Isco started to blow him again. He was eventually aided by Isco himself when he pressed down hard on Franco’s hips and kept them in place.

Franco started to tongue Isco’s hole, hearing and feeling Isco give a little sigh. He eased Isco’s buttcheeks apart with his hands to get better access, and felt Isco’s hips jerk uncontrollably as he spat into Isco’s hole. He continued working as Isco did the same to Franco’s dick, licking and sucking with a fucking purpose, and _God_ , Franco was literally so fucking turned on he was already leaking. It was almost overwhelming, the feeling of Isco all over him at once. In his mouth and on his dick. _Everywhere_.

Isco backed up further into Franco’s face as Franco nudged his tongue against Isco’s entrance. He could feel Isco’s abdomen strain with all the stretching he was doing in order to back into Franco’s face and continue blowing Franco at the same time, because after all Isco was fucking tiny and would understandably have some difficulty with that. He succeeded, though, his beard scrubbing roughly against Franco’s skin. And Franco felt a little breathless, and he wasn’t even sure if it was because his face was stuffed into Isco’s ass or because Isco just took his breath away in general. Nevertheless, they found their rhythm quickly, both their mouths and their hips, the only sound punctuating the humid air the licking and sucking and kissing they were both doing.

Franco began leaking more precome a couple of minutes later, some of which was just licked off by Isco but the rest collected in Isco’s hand as he curled his fingers around Franco’s dick. Franco felt his legs attempt to curl up into his abdomen. He felt his knee accidentally strike Isco in the face.

“Oh, fuck,” Franco said. He tried to get up but found himself – well, still stuck under Isco’s ass. “Shit. Isco. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Isco panted. “You just got my head.”

“Shit,” Franco said again. “You still remember who I am?”

Isco burst into breathless laughter. He gave Franco’s thigh a slap. “Fuck you, of course.”

“Come up here,” Franco said. “Let’s go.”

So Isco turned himself around and left a trail of kisses as he climbed up Franco’s body, his lips lingering at and sucking on Franco’s Adam’s apple before they pressed themselves on Franco’s lips. Franco suddenly just. Just felt like melting under Isco’s grasp. Under Isco’s hot, hot gaze. Under his loving caress of Franco’s cheeks and the passionate brush of his lips on Franco’s face. Under his body, still gently rubbing itself against Franco’s, sticky and sweaty and just. Smelling just the way Franco liked.

“You okay?” Franco whispered, his hand finding its way into Isco’s hair. “Hmm? Where’d I get you?”

Isco took Franco’s hand and put it at the top right corner of his head, where his hairline was. Franco pressed on it gently and, when Isco didn’t wince or anything, gave it a kiss. Franco wasn’t the mushy type, but. But he was kissing it better, he guessed.

Isco flashed a smile at Franco before kissing him again. Then he hoisted himself off and reached for a condom in the drawer, almost immediately finding one because he knew Franco always liked to keep them in neat stacks in the front corner. He’d rearranged Isco’s stash more than once. But anyway, he sat up to put it on for Franco, and Franco suddenly felt. Felt so naked and exposed and cold without Isco’s body on his. He reached out with grabby hands and fussed a little until Isco finished putting on the condom and climbed on him again. Franco never thought of himself as the clingy kind, but well. He was.

Both their moans combined flawlessly into one as Franco held his dick up by the base to let Isco lower himself onto. Softly, though, because after all a kid was sleeping in the next room. Isco gave a little gasp as Franco thrust his hips upwards, before shuddering like he needed some time to get used to Franco being inside of him again.

“Shit, it’s been so long,” Isco whimpered. “I missed you. Vazquez, I fucking missed you.”

“Am I hurting you?” Franco whispered.

“No, I just,” Isco swallowed nervously, his face scrunched up in this grimace. “I want you to be on top.”

“Okay, yeah,” Franco obliged. He pulled out gingerly and rolled over, adjusting himself over Isco. He aligned himself at Isco’s entrance again and waited for Isco’s nod before he pushed himself inside.

Isco moaned again, this time loudly, only muffled a little when Franco pressed his open lips on Isco’s. He let his tongue explore the interior of Isco’s mouth, hoping it would distract him from the pain. And it worked, evident by Isco wrapping his arms around Franco’s neck again and parting his lips further, letting their spit pool inside his mouth.

A few thrusts later and Isco seemed to calm down a little, his hands moving to pull Franco’s face off his and holding it in his hands. He gazed up at Franco for a while, his body jerking with every thrust Franco gave but his eyes never leaving Franco’s. He fiddled around with Franco’s hair, tucking it behind his hairline before pushing it back on his head.

“God, Franco Vazquez, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Franco couldn’t help but smile. He pressed his forehead on Isco’s. “Don’t say such things or I’m gonna come.”

“You’re so easy,” Isco said fondly.

And he said it at just the right moment, too, because Franco was pushing at Isco’s thighs so Isco was curling more off the bed, and his next thrust had completely nailed Isco’s prostate, causing Isco to give this really loud groan and throw his head back on the pillow.

“Say that again,” Franco whispered.

With his teeth gritted, Isco opened his eyes and lifted his head off the pillow, just enough for him to find Franco and kiss Franco. But that only lasted a couple of moments before his head thumped back down on the pillow with a gasp. And Franco just. Just Isco, squirming eagerly under him, hips straining upwards for more, hands wildly exploring Franco’s hair, fucking pretty mouth hanging open in ecstasy – just all those, just looking at and feeling Isco alone, it was practically enough to make Franco come right then.

But he didn’t want to be so fucking rude to Isco, even though it was pretty obvious by then that Isco was also on the edge. He pushed harder on Isco’s thighs so Isco curled up more tightly on himself, and buried his face in Isco’s neck. The both of them gave a coordinated cry when Franco nailed Isco’s prostate again, the movement sending an equally magical jolt of electricity through Franco’s body.

“You’re…you’re gonna come,” Isco managed to breathe, though it came out more of a statement than a question.

“Shit,” was all Franco brought himself to say. He let go of one of Isco’s thighs and moved his hand to cup Isco’s dick, causing Isco to jerk upwards again. He began to jerk Isco off as Isco made some unintelligible murmurs.

That was all the sound they made for a while, except for their hips slamming against each other, the sound just so familiar and erotic and borderline disgusting at the same time. Isco gave another soft cry as the precome streamed out of his dick, and holy fuck, Franco thought he was going to die of an aneurysm.

“Just do it,” Isco whimpered. “Just let go. Vazquez.”

“I want you to come first,” Franco’s lips formed the words against Isco’s warm neck. His warm cheek. His tongue flicked at the inside of Isco’s ear. He sped up the rhythm of his hand on Isco’s dick, jerking him off quickly and sloppily. “Hmm? Can you do that for me? Come for me, Alarcon.”

Isco gave another tortured moan. He strained his hips to meet Franco’s once, and then another time, coordinated with Franco jerking him off.

And then he came so violently and so fucking _loudly_ that Franco had to quickly press his lips on Isco’s so Junior wouldn’t wake up or Bubu wouldn’t start to bark or what fucking ever. Isco gave a few muffled moans into Franco’s mouth and that was when – _fuck_ , that was when Franco realised he’d come a little inside Isco, inside the condom, and holy shit, everything was literally happening at once and Franco quickly pulled out of Isco with a soft murmur of apology. He ripped off the condom and just grabbed Isco’s hand and thrust his dick into it, releasing the pressure on Isco so Isco could sit up with him and they could continue jerking each other off.

Isco immediately moved to press his lips against Franco’s, getting on his knees to reach Franco. His hand – God, his tiny, tiny hand – continued to tug mercilessly, causing Franco to gasp and bite down nearly too hard on Isco’s lower lip. He tried to match Franco’s rhythm, his own hips stuttering as his orgasm neared its end. He knew Franco was far from done, though, so his hand continued working even as his body went slack against Franco’s, exhausted. His lips slid open against Franco’s, allowing Franco to moan right into it as he teased the head, and then the slit of Franco’s dick, practically just milking Franco dry.

Franco gave a sigh when they had both finished and were just sitting there, their hips riding the rhythm out against each other’s, Franco’s thighs resting under Isco’s. Isco had this thoroughly spent look on his face and there were sweat droplets hanging off his hairline and fuck, Franco was so fucking fond. He pushed Isco on his back and clambered over him, kissing him softly on the lips. They seemed a little swollen from all the – well, whatever he’d been doing with his mouth earlier.

“Holy fucking shit,” Franco breathed. He had never had such good sex. Never in his life. Not even with Isco before they'd gotten together.

Isco responded by stuffing his come-covered fingers into Franco’s mouth and making Franco suck everything dry. He even scooped up his own come and repeated the process. And then grabbed Franco’s own come-covered hand and made him do it again.

And Franco decided he should share, because sharing is caring, so he frenched Isco for a little while. But soon it became very clear that if they continued then they were going to be ready for round two in like, three seconds, but they were both tired so instead Franco just climbed off Isco and lay down next to him trying to catch his breath. He pulled the sheets over the both of them and tucked them around Isco so he looked reasonably warm.

It suddenly felt eerily familiar, the both of them side by side, staring at the ceiling, not touching one another. It shouldn’t have been that way. It was supposed to be different. Or at least, Franco felt that way. He turned to Isco and saw Isco with his eyes closed peacefully, the tiniest of smiles on his face.

Franco nudged him with his elbow until he turned. Then Franco opened his arms, inviting Isco to, well. To cuddle.

Isco raised his eyebrows at Franco, but when Franco persisted, shimmied over and tucked himself into Franco’s shoulder with the smile on his face now one of content.

“So…am I doing okay?” Franco asked softly. “You know. As a…as your boyfriend.”

Isco tilted his head upwards and gave Franco a small confused smile. “Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. I just. I can’t tell.”

“You don’t have to. It doesn’t matter.”

“But I’m doing okay?”

“You’re doing great, Franco,” Isco gave Franco’s chest two pats, like he understood the reasons Franco was insecure.

“Out of a hundred?”

Isco sighed like he just didn’t know what to do with Franco. He thought for a little bit, though, and Franco knew it was because he wanted to give an honest answer, even if he thought it was silly. Then he said, “A hundred.”

“Yeah, out of a hundred.”

“Yeah, I give you a hundred. Out of a hundred.”

“Alarcon.”

“I’m gonna dock some points if you don’t stop being naggy about this.”

Franco sighed. “Okay.”

A short silence.

“So, um,” Isco started. “How much do you give me?”

“See?” Franco laughed. He shoved Isco gently in the shoulder. “You wanna know too.”

“Just tell me. I told you yours.”

“Okay, ninety nine.”

Isco paused like he was surprised. He sounded a little disappointed when he asked, “Why? Where’d the one point go?”

“Nowhere, I just wanted to win,” Franco said.

“Fuck you,” Isco started to laugh, and God, Franco was so fucking fond. _Again._

“It’s just,” Franco sighed. “You know how to be a boyfriend. You know? And I don’t.”

“Don’t say that. There’s no such thing as knowing how to be a boyfriend. You be whatever kind of boyfriend you want.”

“But am I the kind of boyfriend you want?”

“Franco, I think we’ve already established that at least four times.”

“Okay,” Franco whispered.

“Franco,” Isco said again. He paused for a moment to kiss Franco in the middle of his chest. “I don’t expect you to get this right away. To…get how this works. Honestly, I don’t even know how it’s gonna work myself. But we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just the way I told you. As slowly as you want. And we’ll do it our way. Okay? No templates or guides or shit. _Our way._ Okay?”

Franco didn’t really have anything to say to that, he was just. Just overwhelmed at how frank Isco was and how understanding he was trying to be. So he gave the top of Isco’s head a little kiss in agreement.

They lay in silence for a long time. Franco had to admit that cuddling was pretty fun.

Isco was the first to break away from their hug, lying with his head sliding off Franco’s arm, body turned half to the ceiling. He examined Franco’s face for a few long moments before asking, “You’ve got a lot you want to talk about, don’t you?”

God, Isco could read Franco like a fucking open book.

“Yeah, I just,” Franco gestured vaguely with the arm that wasn’t under Isco. “I like to talk to you. About stuff. Because you’re so honest.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“It’s just…you know,” Franco said. “Have you ever…do you ever feel…scared? About like…you know. Because I’ve slept with so many men before. But I mean, you know I go for checks at least once every month. But, yeah. Do you, like, do you ever think –“

And then Isco kissed him to shut him up, so he had no choice but to stop.

“You’re not the only one in this relationship who’s slept with many other people,” he whispered. “And I go for checks, too. You know that. And I trust you.”

“And I live alone so there’s no one to poke holes in my condoms.”

“I don’t think that matters if I can’t get pregnant.”

“It still matters. Did you skip sex ed or something?”

“Sex ed was boring. I preferred like, practical sex ed classes.”

Franco shoved him in the shoulder. “So, like…you’re okay with it? I mean…with my past.”

“Franco,” Isco sighed, but seemed to realise that Franco would only relent if he heard Isco say those very words. “Yes, I’m okay with it. We all have our past, right? I mean, I have _a kid_.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t really different,” Isco said, his hand landing softly on Franco’s cheek. “I was reckless. I did what I wanted. When people see Junior, they think that.”

“You took responsibility. That’s what matters more.”

Isco smiled. He kissed Franco gently on the nose. “So did you.”

And Franco just. He just suddenly got it. His past didn’t matter as much as what he did in response to it. To cope with it. To minimise the consequences.

“I like that you have a kid,” Franco said.

“Not everyone thinks that,” Isco said sadly. “I mean, the reason why some of my relationships didn’t work out…it was Junior. That’s why I’ve been mostly single the last two years. Like, I’d go on a few dates, I’d really want to make it work, but then I mention Junior because I _have to_ and then. And then it’s just, poof. But that was just a couple, anyway. The others just didn’t work out because…they didn’t work out. Some girls were just really, really nice about Junior. But I just, I don’t know.”

“Well, you already know how I feel about Junior,” Franco pointed out. “You know, even though you didn’t mention him to me until like, our fifth date.”

“Fuck you, it was our third. And it wasn’t a date.”

“You counted. Cheesy piece of shit.”

“It’s easy. First was in Turin. Second was in Madrid. Third was in Rome.”

Franco smiled. Okay, so they were _both_ going to be obsessive cheesy pieces of shit who were going to remember every possible anniversary of their relationship. Franco couldn’t say he minded that.

“You know, speaking of your past,” Isco continued. “I can’t believe you’ve never 69’d.”

“Fuck you,” Franco said. “It’s not something everyone does.”

“It is, too.”

“It was never like that for me. It was just like, hi, let’s fuck, job done, bye.”

Isco burst into laughter. “That’s cruel.”

“It was what I needed.”

Isco smiled like he understood. He got closer to Franco and curled his arm around Franco’s head as his lips landed softly on Franco’s. “And now, this is what you need?”

“This is what I _want_ ,” Franco corrected in a whisper. “And that’s more important because it means I chose it. I chose you over being someone that I’m not anymore.”

Isco moved his body closer so he was all pressed up against Franco. He smiled peacefully against Franco’s lips. “Thank you for choosing me,” he murmured.

Franco didn’t say anything else, just kept kissing those soft lips like his life depended on it. At that point, it seemed like it did.

\------

The night seemed to pass really quickly when Franco was around. The next time Franco gave him some space to breathe and stopped trying to make out with him, Isco glanced at the clock and saw it was already half past two in the morning.

“Sleepy?” Franco asked, pulling Isco close to his chest again. He seemed to be physically unable to let go of Isco. Not that Isco minded, so. Besides, he knew Franco was more of a physical lover. In the way he displayed his affection.

“Nah, not really, I just,” Isco shrugged. “Franco, can I ask you something? You know, since we’re on the topic of…of the past.”

“Yeah?” Franco whispered. He sounded like. Like he was frightened out of his wits.

“No, hey,” Isco moved up the pillow so he was face to face with Franco. “Don’t be scared.”

“What is it?”

“I just…just wanna ask you about Paulo.”

“Yeah?” Franco said again.

“Don’t be mad, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“How do you…did you ever, you know, like him? Like you like me?”

Franco smiled and he looked so fucking relieved and Isco felt his heart give like, three somersaults. “No, I didn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

Franco closed his eyes. He went silent for a while and Isco just watched him, watched his eyes move around restlessly under his eyelids. And Isco was just. Just so afraid that he’d pissed Franco off again, and he suddenly just didn’t know what to do. He placed a hand on Franco’s cheek, hesitantly, afraid that Franco was going to push him away.

Instead, Franco placed his hand on top of Isco’s, wrapping his long fingers around it and giving it a small squeeze.

“We’re all islands,” he started in a whisper so soft Isco had to strain to hear it, his eyes still closed and eyebrows furrowed. “All of us. You, me, Paulo, everyone. And when we get to know someone, we build a bridge to them. Maybe a friendship bridge. Or a romantic bridge. For some people, those are the same bridges. And for me, the friendship bridge is easy. I can do it myself, I can build it myself all the way to whatever island. But the romantic bridge…the romantic bridge is difficult. I can only build it halfway there. It’s like…like you reach out for someone, but your arm is only long enough to make half the distance. That’s it for me. I can only make half the distance. What I need is…is for that other person to make up the other half of the distance. That’s how…that’s how I see the emotional connection part of it, you know? My island and Paulo’s island, the bridge is only built halfway. I built my part of it. I know Paulo, what Paulo wants, what Paulo needs. But Paulo didn’t finish building his. His emotional bridge, romantic bridge, whatever – it’s built to Alvaro’s island. So our bridge is just hanging halfway over. You know?

“And your bridge, Alarcon. You built your part of it towards me like I built it towards you. You got into my fucking head, Alarcon. You made this bridge complete, you made this emotional connection. We got to know each other on this…this level that I’ve never, ever experienced before. It’s this bridge, you know? It’s a two-way bridge. I trust you so much, more than anybody else in my entire life. And I know you trust me, too. That’s how…that’s how it works for me. You know?”

Isco smiled. He tried to blink his tears away before Franco could open his eyes and see them. He was just. Just dumbstruck for a moment, looking at Franco and listening to Franco. Franco was so fucking amazing. Isco never knew such beauty existed, much less all trapped in one single person. Franco had this so utterly unique way of thinking and of living life and he tried so hard to explain it to Isco when Isco asked and Isco just. He just appreciated it so, so much. And now he knew that this was just part of it. This was just going to strengthen the bridge between their islands.

“That okay?” Franco asked when Isco didn’t respond. He opened his eyes and saw Isco fucking _crying_ , and he quickly wiped Isco’s tears with his thumbs. “Shit, why are you crying? Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“No, I just,” Isco whispered. “Franco Vazquez. You’re so beautiful. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and I can’t believe you want to be with me.”

Franco smiled. He stopped using his thumbs to clean Isco’s tears and instead leaned forward and kissed them away. “I can’t believe you want to be with me, either.”

Isco tucked his head in Franco’s neck and sighed. Just being with Franco. Just being with Franco made Isco the happiest man in the universe. “So you’re saying…” he started softly. “If Paulo hadn’t been in love with Alvaro, you two would probably have ended up together?”

Franco gave a little chuckle into Isco’s hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe we are, in some faraway universe.”

“Well, I don’t like that universe. I like all the universes where we’re together.”

A soft gust of air as Franco laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

“But it all works out, don’t you think?” Isco asked. “I mean…now I’m with you and I’m the happiest person ever. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Franco pulled away and gave Isco this dazzling grin. “A happy bean.”

“A happy bean,” Isco repeated. He remembered Franco’s birthday note for Junior. “And Junior’s a happy little bean.”

“Bean Senior and Bean Junior.”

Isco laughed. “I don’t get why I’m a bean. I mean, I get why Junior’s a bean. But I don’t get why _I’m_ a bean.”

“You look like a bean,” was all the justification Franco was willing to give him. It earned him a soft punch in the chest. “Hey. You know, that thing about Paulo was the first thing I thought of, too? Like, whether I just had a crush on him and didn’t know it, or something.”

“Yeah?” Isco said. “Wow, I guess you’re right, we’re the same person.”

“Wrong, I don’t look like a bean.”

“You’re a long bean.”

“Shut up.”

“String bean.”

That earned him a few tickles that almost pushed him off the edge of the bed. He was rescued by Franco, though, who grabbed his wrists and pulled him back in so he landed on Franco’s chest with a thump. “You’re so fucking annoying,” Franco remarked.

“You like annoying,” Isco pointed out.

Franco sighed in defeat. “Hey,” he said. “We’re not going to be fucking extra like Paulo and Alvaro and give a press conference, are we?”

“Fuck, no,” Isco said. “Why would you even think that?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who’s all _‘open living.'"_

“Not like that. Also, they weren’t being extra. They were being hounded and they had to give it. You know that.”

“I know. I was kidding.”

“Anyway, Paulo and Alvaro have already paved the way for us. We can just go out on the street and start holding hands and that’ll be our version of the press conference.”

“True,” Franco gave him a proud smile. “Okay, we’ll just do that.”

“Yeah? You wanna do that?”

“Mmhmm.”

“ _El Mudo_ is sure?” Isco asked, because _El Mudo_ had always been virtually silent to the press about his personal life.

“ _El Mudo_ is sure when it comes to you.”

Isco kissed him on the lips again, but they’d been tangled up with each other for the best part of three hours and everything was getting sticky and sweaty so Isco had to pull away for a while. He turned to face Franco, though, and his heart fucking melted when he saw Franco just lying there, arms limp, the loving smile on his face directed at Isco.

He took his phone and checked it. It was past 3am and there were no texts. Which didn’t really matter to Isco, for the only person he wanted to text was lying there right next to him.

“So…” Franco started, nervously eyeing Isco’s phone. “Antonio know about us?”

“Not yet,” Isco said. “To be honest with you, Antonio was the first one to warn me that fuck buddies shouldn’t have gotten as close as we did.”

“Yeah?” Franco laughed. “So…so he suspected it?”

“I guess you could say that, yeah.”

“My brothers did, too.”

“I could tell,” Isco said, rolling his eyes. “God, remember at the hotel in Seville? They were all just staring weirdly at us, fucking hell.”

“And we were just like, blind, this entire time.”

“Blind beans.”

“We should tell them,” Franco suggested. “I mean, I sort of promised Fede he’d be the first to know if anything happened between us.”

“Oh yeah?” Isco grinned. “You guys talked about me? Franco Vazquez confided in his brother about _me_?”

“Shut up, I didn’t do that. He kept bugging me.”

“You did,” Isco tickled him until he gave in. Which didn’t take long. Franco was bad at being tickled.

They ended up calling Federico, long distance to Argentina, because Franco insisted on it. Said it was bedtime in Argentina and he wanted to give Federico a heart attack. Which, well, Isco was totally up for. He was always up for a little fun, especially with Franco.

“Hey, loser,” was how Federico answered the phone. Isco briefly wondered if all brothers were this annoying.

“Hey,” Franco said. “How’s things?”

Isco rolled his eyes. Of course Franco wanted to do things in order. If it had been up to Isco, he’d have dived in right away. Especially since it launched Federico into this semi-long lecture about how his life had been lately, while Isco almost peed his pants – well, he wasn’t wearing pants, so he nearly peed his sheets – in excitement. And that was before he realised it was an unearthly hour where Franco was. Franco managed to avoid giving any explanation.

“So, uh,” Franco started when he finally managed to get a word in. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?” Federico said.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Who the hell can I meet at fucking three thirty am in Spain?”

Franco pushed the phone closer to Isco with this ginormous grin that Isco couldn’t help but smooch.

“Hi,” Isco said. “It’s Isco. Your brother’s boyfriend.”

A loud gasp followed by complete silence from Federico.

“Holy _fuck!_ ” Federico finally yelled, and both Isco and Franco stuffed their fists into the mouth to stop themselves from bursting into laughter. “His _boyfriend_? Boyfriend! Franco has a fucking boyfriend!”

“Shut your fucking loud mouth!” Franco said hurriedly. “Shit, don’t tell anyone!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I won’t,” Federico said. “Holy fuck, Franco! He’s Isco! _The_ Isco!”

“I like how that sounds,” Isco butted in.

“Look, look,” Franco said. “I just told you because I promised you’d be the first to know. I’ll tell everyone else when I’m ready. Okay?”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Federico said again. “What the fuck! I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you expect me to sleep tonight after knowing this.”

“Deal with that yourself, bye,” Franco said, and hung up.

Isco found himself beaming at Franco as he turned back after placing the phone on the table. He moved closer to Franco, wanting to press himself into Franco’s arms so he could fall asleep in there.

But Franco turned Isco on his back instead, gently fluffing up Isco’s pillow so Isco’s head rested comfortably on it. He moved himself closer to soothe Isco’s resulting pout, his arm curling around Isco’s head, framing Isco’s face. His hand rested softly on the top of Isco’s head. He pressed his lips to Isco’s cheek. “Sleep,” he whispered.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Isco asked, immediately dreading the answer.

“I’ll leave on Tuesday morning.”

“So we have one more night?”

Franco’s lips curled upwards against Isco’s temple. “Mmhmm.”

Isco fell asleep to the sound of Franco’s rhythmic, peaceful breathing, like the sound of the ocean’s rushing waves right into his ear.

\------

Isco woke up the next morning sometime past nine am still being held in Franco’s arms.

He was on his side, his back pressed against Franco’s chest. Franco’s arms were wrapped tightly around him – one over him and around his waist, and the other under his head and around his neck.

It wasn’t so much of a strangling move like Franco wanted to murder Isco in his sleep or something. It was more of like. Like a gentle cradling hold of the head. Franco was holding Isco’s head back so it rested over Franco’s shoulder. Isco had to say it was pretty comfortable, even though the hold was firm and Franco resembled a straightjacket in human form.

Isco wriggled around a little and Franco loosened his grip as he stirred. “What are you doing?” Isco asked.

Franco opened his eyes hazily and let go of Isco, crossing his arms across his own chest with a sigh. He shut his eyes again. “You tuck your head in when you sleep on your side. It’s bad for your neck. That’s why it’s always sore.”

Isco smiled. He gave Franco a little kiss on the nose. He loved this guy. This was the very first moment that he ever explicitly thought those words. He loved Franco.

He checked under the sheets and saw he had his pants back on. And so did Franco. Which meant that Franco had actually gotten up in the middle of the night and put on pants for the both of them.

“You know, pants usually go the other way,” Isco said as he got out of bed. “You go to sleep with them and wake up without them.”

“My butt got cold,” Franco said. “And imagine if we woke up in that same position, but naked.”

Isco started to laugh, because that was pretty entertaining to think about. He got up and kicked the stray clothes on the floor into one heap, plucking his t-shirt from them and putting it on.

“Come back to bed,” Franco whined. God, that dude was whiny.

“I gotta check on Junior.”

“I checked on him earlier. Around six.”

“And then you put our pants on.”

“He was okay. Get back in bed.”

“He’s going to wake up soon. Natural baby alarm.”

Franco sighed. He rolled on his front and stuffed his head into his pillow.

Junior was already awake when Isco got to his room, standing in his cot and holding the rails, waiting for Isco to appear. “Papa hey!” he yelled when he saw Isco.

“Morning,” Isco smiled. He lifted Junior out of his cot and pressed his nose into Junior’s hair. The scent comforted him. Junior’s baby smell. And also, well. Diapery smell. He brought Junior to the changing table and cleaned him up a little before putting him in a fresh diaper. Then he put Junior on the ground, hands hovering around his shoulders until he steadied himself. “Wanna meet someone?”

“Who?”

Isco pointed to his room across the hall and Junior scurried in the direction of his finger. He watched as Junior stopped in the doorway and yelled, “Vazquez!” at the top of his lungs.

Then he charged at the bed and tried to climb onto it, but it was too high for him, so Isco had to go over and give him a little boost. He clambered over Franco and lay down on his side, facing Franco. “Hi Vazquez!”

“Hi,” Franco said adoringly. He turned his head and wrapped one arm around Junior, pulling him close. “Okay, come here, bed is dirty.”

But Junior wriggled out of his grasp and climbed on top of him, sitting on Franco’s butt like he’d just conquered it.

Franco gave this resigned sigh because he couldn’t get up without toppling Junior over. “Jesus, Alarcon, deal with your son,” he said.

So Isco went over and scooped Junior off, and waited for Franco to turn on his back before returning Junior to him. He watched them play for a while, Junior’s tiny hands in Franco’s ginormous ones, Franco asking questions and Junior completely failing at answering them. Then Franco got up with Junior in his arms and brought him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He put Junior on the bathroom counter, his feet in the sink and his back resting against Franco’s abdomen. He took Junior’s tiny toothbrush and washed it and loaded it with toothpaste, and put it in his hand. He guided Junior as he brushed his little teeth, but Junior informed him with a mouthful of toothpaste that he could do it himself, so Franco just stood and watched until Isco handed him a disposable toothbrush. He didn’t even argue that he had his own toothbrush in his bag. He just took it without a word and smiled at Isco and brushed his teeth.

Then he had a little competition with Junior about who could spit their stream further, and Junior got water all over his onesie but Isco couldn’t even complain. Franco let Junior win, of course, once Junior finally got the hang of it. Franco wiped him dry and hoisted him up in his arms. He gave Junior’s face a little sniff.

“You smell good,” he informed Junior.

“Vazquez smell good,” Junior replied.

Franco laughed. “Let’s go outside so papa can brush his teeth.”

So they went outside and Isco brushed his teeth and cleaned the place up a little. He got to the living room to see Junior lazing around with one of his giant Legos and Bubu, who was evidently not aiding in Junior’s cause to build something significant with his clunky Legos. Franco was in the kitchen, making everything smell like coffee. Isco told him he could go back to bed, but he refused.

They scrambled some eggs with broccoli bits in them, enough for like, five people. They sat down and took turns to feed Junior, managing to finish the huge portion between the three of them. They lay down for a while to rest, right in the middle of Junior’s play area, just talking about nothing. Of course, they were all up in Junior’s way and Junior had to clamber all over them but none of them minded, so.

When they were sure their eggs had been digested, they went outside to the backyard and watched Junior entertain himself with a ball. They called Antonio to play the same trick on him as they did on Federico, and Junior yelled at him for a bit before the phone was passed back to Isco and Franco.

“I have to tell you something,” Isco said to Antonio.

“Did you go get another chick pregnant?” Antonio asked, and fuck, Franco just burst into loud laughter and almost ruined the entire thing.

“Fuck, no,” Isco punched Franco’s shoulder. Hard. “I want you to meet someone.”

“Okay? Who?”

“Hi,” Franco said, right on cue. “It’s Franco. Your brother’s boyfriend.”

And holy shit, Antonio had the exact same reaction as Federico did. Silence for a while, then a string of expletives.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” was what they finally managed to make out from his blabbering. “I knew it!”

“Yeah, I think we get the point,” Isco muttered.

“Fuck you, you went and got yourself one of the best ones.”

Franco laughed shyly. “So you approve?” he asked. Isco’s need for approval was rubbing off on him.

“I sure as hell fucking approve,” Antonio said. “What the fuck.”

“I’ll tell mom and dad myself,” Isco said.

“Sure,” Antonio replied, and then freaked out all over again. “What the fuck! How do you expect me to just go on with my day like this?”

“Shit, he’d be great friends with Fede,” Franco pointed out to Isco, softly. And Isco agreed.

“You’ll survive, bye,” Isco said. He hung up the phone.

He turned to Franco only to see Junior already all up in Franco’s space, pushing Franco backwards and crawling on his face. Franco gave the air a sniff before proclaiming, “Someone needs a diaper change.”

So they all went inside and cleaned up and hung around the TV all huddled up together under a throw blanket. It all felt so. So _domestic_. This time in a good way. Isco didn’t want the day to ever end.

They had a late lunch with some leftovers, but ran out of food for dinner. They were both too lazy to go out so they played a round of rock-paper-scissors and Franco lost so he had to go grocery shopping – which he did, eventually, with lots of whining and endless texting from the vegetable section about what kinds of vegetables Junior liked.

Which was none. The answer was none of them.

Anyway, when Franco got home he cooked a sumptuous dinner for all of them and he needn’t even have worried in the first place because Junior had the time of his life and he finished every mouthful of food that was sent his way.

They cuddled Junior to sleep in between them, Franco singing softly until Junior dozed off.

“I love this kid,” Franco whispered.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled.

“Mmhmm,” Franco mumbled. He wrapped Junior tightly in his arms and smiled when Junior tucked his face into Franco’s neck. “My favourite kid. Just don’t tell Fausto.”

“I won’t,” Isco promised. He watched as Franco got up and put Junior in his cot before returning and snuggling up all into Isco’s personal space. Isco loved that Franco was just being himself. He wasn’t trying too hard. Franco was just being Franco, he had just been Franco for the entire day and it was the best thing in the world to Isco, knowing that Franco didn’t think he needed to change in any way in order for Isco to love him.

“You slept well yesterday?” Franco asked. He looked. Just so earnest, like he just really, genuinely wanted to know and wasn’t just asking for fun.

“Yeah,” Isco said. “The neck thing worked.”

So Franco made him get into the same position, neck held up by Franco’s arm, and whispered space facts into Isco’s hair until Isco fell asleep on his shoulder. With a smile on his face, because he’d just had the best day of his life.


	19. You Make Me Laugh Until I Die, Can You Think Of Any Better Way To Choke?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note for those of you who haven't read AEIB/missed out the part where I mentioned this: In this storyline/universe, Franco did not go on loan to Rayo Vallecano in 2012. So it can be assumed that most people watching La Liga did not know about him until he came to Sevilla.
> 
> Also, happy birthday to our favourite bean Isco!
> 
> Title is from Glory by Bastille.

Isco’s parents were in Madrid the next week.

They were going to stay for a week or so to watch Isco’s match before packing Junior with them back to Málaga while Isco went off on international break. And Franco – well, Franco didn’t really have an international break to attend, so he decided he’d take the train to Madrid again because since Isco’s parents were there, they might as well just tell them first. You know, so they could do their hand-holding ASAP.

It was made much easier by the fact that both Isco’s and Franco’s parents already knew about their sexualities. So the coming out part was done and dusted. It was just introductions.

Unfortunately, Isco only had one day’s rest between his last match and when he was due for training with Spain. And that day happened to come immediately after a loss to Barcelona by Franco’s Sevilla, a particularly stinging loss because Sevilla had led from early on and were having a good run of wins that put them near the top of the table. It was held at primetime, too, which made Franco really tired even as he boarded the train to Madrid the next morning.

He finally arrived at Isco’s door the next morning after the longest train ride ever – well, it took him the usual amount of time, but it also seemed to be forever later. He knocked it on two times before Isco came and opened it.

The eager smile on Isco’s face quickly faded to one of surprise once he saw Franco. To his credit, Franco _did_ try to smile. He felt the corners of his lips actually lift. But Isco just looked devastated.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I’m tired,” was all Franco managed to say. At least he was honest.

Isco pulled him inside and took his bag to put on the floor. He watched Franco wriggle out of his sweater before he dove into a hug, his face a little warm spot in the middle of Franco’s chest.

“I’m sorry you always have to travel for me,” he said softly.

“No,” Franco whispered. He was just. Just tired. He hadn’t even _thought_ of how much he was travelling because of Isco. It was just normal to him. It was something he wanted to do. “It’s not that.”

“You’re always tired when you reach.”

“I’m not tired because of the train ride. I’m tired because we lost yesterday and I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t even play the full game but I’m tired.”

Isco gave a small laugh, and Franco knew he wanted to make a crack at Franco being old but was too afraid to do so at that moment. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Franco. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy I’m here, too,” Franco pressed his nose into Isco’s hair. It was just. Just so comforting to hold Isco in his arms. Just the feeling of Isco right there. It was all the comfort that Franco needed. He wished he could just bundle Isco up in a little sachet and put him in his pocket to carry around all day.

“I’m sorry about the loss,” Isco said.

“It’s okay,” Franco smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

Then Isco went on his tiptoes and kissed Franco on the lips, and _God,_ Franco literally felt all his exhaustion melt away. It was the best feeling in the entire universe. Who the fuck knew that all Franco needed, _everything_ Franco needed, was just to hold Isco in his arms?

“Your parents here yet?” Franco asked. They were staying in a nearby hotel and had watched the Real Madrid match the previous night. Isco had featured – well, Isco had featured sixty eight minutes, which was exactly the same amount of time _Franco_ had featured in his match against Barcelona. Fuck, Franco was beginning to think there was such a thing as soulmates.

“Yeah, they’re in the living room.” Isco said. He gave Franco one last peck on the lips before taking Franco’s hand and leading him inside.

Franco let go of it, though, when they approached the living room. Firstly because shit, he was beginning to panic and his hand was going to start sweating, and secondly because he had literally never attended one of these meet-the-parents sessions ever before and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

Fortunately for him, he had Isco Alarcon, his fucking amazing boyfriend, the most beautiful person in the whole wide world, to guide him. Isco gave him a little encouraging smile as they sat down on the two-seater opposite the couch Isco’s parents were on. Junior, who was frolicking around on his grandparents’ laps, started yelling Franco’s name again when he saw Franco, and he wouldn’t stop so everyone had no choice but to pass Junior to Franco.

And Franco thought wow, what a first impression he was making.

He sat quietly next to Isco with Junior fussing in his lap, waiting for it to start. He wasn’t too sure if he’d know when it was starting, just knew that he was fucking scared out of his wits. It took him about a minute to realise that he probably should have introduced himself. Maybe that was why Isco’s parents were just staring at him.

“Uh,” Franco said lamely. “Hi. I’m Franco.”

“Vazquez!” Junior contributed.

“Yeah, uh,” Franco scratched at the back of his head. “Vazquez. Franco Vazquez.”

“Yeah, we saw you at Junior’s party,” Isco’s dad said with a smile. “And Isco talks a lot about you.”

“He does?” Franco asked. He turned to Isco and saw Isco glaring at his dad with a blush slowly creeping over his face.

“He does,” Isco’s mom confirmed. “What brings you here today?”

Franco turned to Isco again for help, and Junior started randomly babbling again so Franco shushed him softly and earned himself fond looks from all three of the Alarcon adults.

“So, um,” Isco cleared his throat. “Mom, dad. You know how a few years ago I told you I was bi? Like…like sorta bi? But, like, I’ve never been in a relationship with a guy before?”

His parents nodded. They seemed to know what was coming. And they didn’t look mad, which calmed Franco a little.

“Yeah, so…I’m with Franco now. Like, he’s my boyfriend. I just…like, I wanted you guys to officially meet.”

Huge smiles broke on Isco’s parents’ faces again, and fuck, Franco was so relieved. They beamed at him and Franco almost melted, just in the really warm and embarrassed way and not the eyefucked-by-Isco way. Although, well, Isco _was_ eyefucking him right then, from right beside him.

Isco put his hand on Franco’s and gave it a squeeze. It barely covered three quarters of Franco’s hand. Franco turned his hand around and slid his fingers in between Isco’s, and it just. It felt so right. Everything just dissolved in the background for the moment.

That was only until Junior caught sight of their hands and practically _pounced_ on them, and Franco wondered why for a moment before realizing Junior probably saw his dad holding hands with other people before. Other girls. He was pretty sure Junior didn’t know what it meant. But he probably thought it was something good. Whatever it was, he seemed really happy about it, placing both his hands on Isco’s and Franco’s and beaming at each of them in turn.

Isco’s parents started to ask Franco about loads of stuff – about his family, his brothers, his career. All things that Franco had anticipated and could easily answer, thank fuck. After a while Franco stopped being afraid and just. Just started being himself. Because he knew that was the version of him Isco liked the most.

“So how long will you be staying here?” Isco’s dad asked Franco.

Franco shrugged. “Maybe until tonight. Or maybe I’ll stay the night,” he said, turning to Isco, who nodded.

“So you came here just to meet us?” he asked. Both he and Isco’s mom looked pretty impressed when Franco nodded.

“We just, uh,” Franco shrugged again. “We wanted you to hear it from us. That we’re together.”

“Yeah, you know the press is shit sometimes,” Isco said. “Even after everything with Paulo and Alvaro.”

“It’s going to be much easier for you now, though, isn’t it?” Isco’s mom asked. And well, she wasn’t wrong. Man, Franco and Isco really owed everything to their friends. Dumb and clueless friends, but still the best friends in the world.

Anyway, they all started to talk about something random, and Franco got distracted by Junior bounding over from his play area with a huge soft toy in his arms and trying to shove it in Franco’s lap. Franco took it from him and lifted him onto the couch as he started babbling about all the different teddy bears he had. What the fuck, he was just like his dad. Just like Isco and his obsession with Franco’s collection of white sweaters.

Franco ended up curled around Junior, elbow on the armrest and cheek propped up on his hand, listening to Junior and watching him skitter back and forth with a soft toy in his arms each time. Giving him a boost whenever he tried to get up the couch. Cuddling him when he decided that he’d like to be cuddled. And of course, answering all the questions he asked, even the weirdest ones. Like, what was ‘Vazquez, the bear?’ even supposed to mean? Kids were so weird and Franco loved them.

He would’ve felt a little rude just ignoring everyone and playing with Junior, but he vaguely heard Isco telling his parents earlier that Franco liked to zone out sometimes. Franco couldn’t remember why he hadn’t responded. Maybe he was zoning out with Junior.

But anyway, Franco took notice of the adult conversation again when it was mentioned that Junior was going to be with Sonia for a couple of weeks starting the following Friday, which was near the end of the international break.

Which meant that after Isco’s parents brought Junior back to Málaga, Franco wouldn’t see him for almost a month.

“When are you taking Junior back to Málaga?” Franco asked Isco’s parents.

“They’re going to watch the match in Granada, so they’re leaving for Málaga tomorrow night and then taking a train there for the match,” Isco told him. He seemed to realise that Franco was getting too attached to Junior – it was pretty obvious, honestly, with Junior lounging on his lap right at that very moment. “Aww, you’ll miss him?”

Franco didn’t know how to respond to that with Isco’s parents sitting _right there_. He glanced at them, then at Junior, then back at Isco. “Um,” he said uselessly.

Isco blinked at him a few times, and then put his hand on Franco’s knee and very solemnly asked, softly so his parents couldn’t really hear, “Remember our conversation in Dubai? _That_ conversation?”

Of course Franco remembered his favourite conversation. “Yeah?”

“Remember I told you I’d let you take care of Junior for an entire day just to see if you can do it?”

“You’re not going to let me take care of Junior the entire time you’re away.”

“Why not? You can do it. You babysat him for one day. You know how to put him to bed and wake him up. You know how to deal with his fussing.”

“But then your parents would’ve come for nothing.”

“They don’t mind,” Isco said. Then, a little louder, “Right, mom and dad? You won’t mind?”

And Jesus Christ, Franco was so fucking embarrassed because Isco had known his parents were eavesdropping but Franco had had no fucking idea.

“Yeah, we’re just happy to see you guys.”

“Sonia will be in Málaga anyway.”

Isco laughed at the blush that was violently creeping up on Franco’s face and which Franco could feel was just violently clawing at his cheeks. “See?”

“Both Isco and Antonio have testified for your babysitting abilities,” Isco’s dad said with a laugh.

“Mom and dad’s flight is tomorrow night. They’ll be around. And if they don’t approve of anything, they’ll just take Junior back with them. Okay?”

Franco felt like he was being ganged up on. But it was to do something he _really wanted to do_ , so Franco eventually agreed. And he figured out the clawing at his face was actually just Junior’s hands.

“Do you think your parents like me?” Franco asked when he got Isco alone, finally, in the kitchen while they were making some food for Isco’s parents. He didn’t get why he was suddenly so desperate for approval. But then again, he’d never been in this situation ever before, so he guessed he didn’t even know he was supposed to expect this. “I mean, like, could you ask them?”

“I don’t have to _ask them_ ,” Isco laughed fondly. “I know they like you.”

“How do you know?”

“Where’d you think I got my directness from? If they don’t like you, they’ll show it. They’ve done that more than once, about my ex-girlfriends.”

Franco gave a soft sigh. “Okay,” he said.

“Franco,” Isco said softly. He turned and took Franco’s arms and wrapped them around his waist, before wrapping his own arms around Franco’s neck. “Vazquez. Don’t worry about it. Trust me.”

“I do,” Franco whispered. He pressed his lips softly on Isco’s. He didn’t think he’d ever trusted anyone more in his life. Not even his brothers. He’d never bared his soul to them like he had to Isco. “Fuck, what if I screw up tomorrow? I’ll be alone with your parents.”

“You’re not going to screw up,” Isco said, tucking a few strands of Franco’s hair under the puff sitting on his head. “I trust you.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Franco said – and immediately regretted it. Just because he didn’t have a national team to join didn’t mean that Isco couldn’t have one. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Isco just smiled, like he understood. He ran his fingers down Franco’s cheek. “You look so tired.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

“You’re okay with taking Junior, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. He gently pecked Isco on the nose. “I want you and I want everything that comes with you, and that includes Junior.”

Isco’s smile grew, and he went on his tiptoes to kiss Franco again, and shit, Franco got so fucking fond every time he did that. Franco could just as easily bend over to kiss him, but. But he just found it so adorable. “I’m so happy we’re one step closer to holding hands on the street,” Isco breathed against Franco’s lips.

“How about…how about we call my parents tonight?” Franco suggested. “And tell them. Then tomorrow morning we can go on a breakfast date and I can send you to training and kiss you goodbye.”

“Really?” Isco asked. He pulled away and examined Franco’s expression for a while. “Franco, we don’t have to do that if you’re not ready.”

“No, I just,” Franco smoothened some frizzy hairs in Isco’s beard. Well, he tried. “I know you hate hiding. You just…want to live your life. And I want to live it with you. So let’s just…let’s do it. My parents already know I’m gay. It’s not going to be difficult.”

“Is it rude?”

“We’ll just tell them we’re together. You can meet them when they’re in Italy.”

“And they’ll like me?”

“You’re Isco,” Franco said, gently booping Isco on the nose. “You’re _the_ Isco Alarcon. Everyone knows you and everyone likes you.”

“And you like me the most.”

“And I like you the most.”

“I mean,” Isco shrugged. “You just asked me out on a date tomorrow morning.”

Franco laughed. “I did,” he whispered as he leaned over to kiss Isco again. “Man, Alarcon, I’m in so deep.”

“Me, too,” Isco smiled.

There was suddenly the sound of someone clearing their throat, and both Franco and Isco jumped a little before turning to see that it was Isco’s dad, standing near the kitchen counter with Junior sitting on his arm. Franco instinctively pulled away from Isco, but Isco’s dad just beamed at them.

And Junior. Junior had his hands on his face and his jaw almost on the floor. He kinda looked like that painting of The Scream. Or like, the equivalent emoji. He stayed that way until Isco’s dad walked over and handed him to Franco. He just stared at Franco with his mouth and his huge beady eyes opened the widest they could go.

“Vazquez!!!” he squealed, so loudly and highly-pitched that his voice actually broke. He sounded like he was in disbelief. Or like he was fake-mad at Franco for not disclosing this to him earlier. He flopped over Franco’s shoulder in joy for a brief moment before popping up again and requesting, “Vazquez I want a kiss too.”

So Franco gave him a few, on both his cheeks and his nose and the top of his head, and made him a sticky giggly ball. “Vazquez kiss papa all the time?” he asked.

“Shhh,” Isco said, embarrassed. “I’m just preparing dinner,” he told his dad.

“Yeah, right,” Isco’s dad smirked.

Isco glared at him. Franco just laughed, because his dad was right, cooking was the last thing they had been doing.

Junior was shooed out of the kitchen along with Isco’s dad. Not so Franco and Isco could make out some more. But so they could actually start preparing dinner together and not make Isco’s parents wait until like, midnight. They got through it quickly and Isco made a stir-fry while Franco did some eggs and baked an entire potato for Junior.

Isco took Franco’s hand again while they were setting the table. He just. Just randomly reached over and grabbed Franco’s hand and completely impaired both their abilities to do their job. “Franco,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to light up the entire universe like you said.”

Franco smiled. He pressed his lips quickly on Isco’s, both half-open, breaths mingling slightly. “We are, Alarcon,” he whispered, and he felt like he had never spoken anything else with more truth than he had spoken those three words with.

\------

Franco conked out in bed straight after dinner.

He didn’t help with the dishes or anything, just put them in a neat pile next to the sink for Isco to wash. Then he said he wanted to go to the washroom. Maybe he fell asleep on the way there.

Whatever it was, he slept for four hours straight, until midnight, leaving Isco to clean everything up, take his parents back to the hotel, and put Junior to bed. He finally crawled into bed with a sigh after showering, lying on his side and watching Franco sleep for a while.

Franco looked so tired even though he was asleep. He was on his side, on top of the sheets, his arms splayed out in front of him and his face half turned into the pillow, like he’d just collapsed on the bed and went to sleep right away. Isco hated that Franco was so tired. Even though Franco had said that it wasn’t because of Isco. Isco couldn’t help but think that maybe, at least partially, it was.

He tried to wrap the sheets around Franco so he’d be warm, but only succeeded in waking Franco up.

He opened his eyes and stared at Isco for a while, blinking slowly. Isco offered a smile. Franco smiled back, still looking confused.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost midnight,” Isco said.

“Fuck,” Franco sighed, turning on his back. “Your parents?”

“Back at the hotel.”

“Fuck,” he said again. “I’m sorry. I just really needed to lie down.”

“No, hey, it’s okay,” Isco wrapped one arm over Franco, tucking him more tightly under the sheets. “C’mon. Go back to sleep.”

“No, I have to shower.”

“Franco.”

But Franco slid out from under the sheets and dragged his feet to the bathroom without another word, and Isco just. Isco let him. A shower was the first thing Franco did whenever he was stressed or upset or just in general distress. It was his reset button. It put him in control again. So Isco let him.

Isco was still in the same position when Franco returned to bed and crawled under the covers. “Why don’t you go to sleep?” he asked Isco.

“We, uh,” Isco gestured vaguely at the air. “We gonna call your parents?”

“Oh, yeah, shit,” Franco sighed. “Fuck, I forgot.”

“We don’t have to right now. If you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Franco said. He took his phone and turned on his side to face Isco. “Alarcon. I want to walk with you on the street and hold your hand and feel like I’m in control. And I want my parents to hear it from us, first, instead of finding out from some paparazzi shots of us.”

Isco smiled. For Franco to get his control and Isco to get his ‘open living,’ anything was worth it. “Okay,” he whispered.

Franco leaned over and kissed Isco, open-mouthed. Isco got lost in it for a while, in Franco’s warm, wet mouth. Under Franco’s eager, loving grasp. He was quite disappointed when they eventually had to pull apart to make the call. Franco swept his hand around blindly under the sheets to find his phone again because it got lost amidst all their kissing.

“Stop poking me,” Isco complained. Franco opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Isco before he could even start. “I know, I know, that’s what I said about your dick.”

Franco laughed to himself like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. He turned to lie on his stomach and Isco followed him. Then he found his mom’s number in his contact list. “Ready?” he asked Isco.

“Do I have to say anything?” Isco asked.

“If you want to.”

“Okay.”

So Franco dialed the number. It wasn’t the first time Isco had done this meet-the-parents thing. But it was the first time he was doing it over the phone. And this wasn’t just _anyone’s_ parents, it was _Franco’s_. Isco felt like his heart was going to leap out of his throat and land where it belonged, which was in Franco’s hands.

“Hey, mom,” he said when his mom picked up the phone. “Is dad there with you?”

Only a murmur was audible over the phone, but Isco took it as a yes. A couple of seconds later there was another murmur and Franco pressed the speaker button. “Mom, dad, I’m putting you on speaker, okay?”

“Okay, what’s the matter, Franco?”

Franco paused for a long while, and Isco was holding his breath for however long the pause lasted but he didn’t realise it until Franco started speaking again. He let it out with a soft sigh.

“You both know I’ve never done this before, so, um,” Franco shrugged, although they couldn’t see. “I’m just gonna come straight out with it. I, uh. I have a boyfriend. I’m in a relationship.”

A very short pause from Franco’s parents.

“Yeah?” Franco’s mom asked. “That’s great, Franco.”

“Really?” Franco asked, and Isco realised he was just as nervous as Isco was.

“Of course,” she said.

“I mean, I know you guys sorta think that it’s better…not for me to be open about being gay, but –“

“Don’t be silly, Franco, we never thought that,” Franco’s dad said. “You be who you want to be.”

“Yeah, and it’s much better now because your friends have changed everyone’s minds about homosexuality.”

A pause, this time longer.

“We’re sorry if we made you think that we wouldn’t approve of a boyfriend,” Franco’s dad finally said. “Is that why you’ve never brought any of your boyfriends home?”

“No, dad,” Franco said softly. “It’s not that.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just,” Franco ran one of his hands through his hair. He gulped nervously and stared pointedly at the pillow in front of him. “I met this guy that I…I really, really like. And I’ve never liked…anyone. More than I like him. And I just…yeah.”

“That’s really great, Franco,” Franco’s mom said kindly. “What’s his name?”

“Isco,” Franco said. “Isco Alarcon. From Real Madrid.”

A short surprised pause.

“Really?” Franco’s dad asked.

“Yeah, he’s here right now, do you wanna talk to him?”

“Sure.”

Franco used one finger to push the phone towards Isco, and he still didn’t turn to look at Isco, and Isco briefly wondered why before Franco started swatting at his own face to wipe away the tears, and _God_ , Isco’s heart fell to the floor. He tried to wipe them for Franco, but Franco only grabbed his hands and kissed them softly and pointed at the phone.

“Hi,” Isco finally said, hoping the silence hadn’t been too awkward. “Uh, hello. Mr. and Mrs. Vazquez.”

They laughed in unison at how formal he was being. “Hi,” Franco’s mom said. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you,” Isco said.

“We’d love to meet you soon,” she said.

“Franco says he’ll take me to see you when you’re in Italy.”

“We’re looking forward to that.”

There was a little more small talk before Franco took over again. He asked his parents if there was anything they needed, and they asked him the same question. Isco just rested his cheek on his pillow and watched Franco as he spoke to his parents. Franco was just. Such a good person. He was so beautiful and pure and kind. And he had stopped crying, which was also good.

Isco wrapped him up in a hug almost immediately after he’d put the phone back on the table. All the air was knocked out of Franco but he gave a little chuckle and pressed his lips into Isco’s hair. “Hey,” he said.

“Why did you cry?” Isco whispered.

Which turned out to be a bad idea, because all it did was make Franco start crying again. He sobbed into Isco’s shoulder and Isco was so fucking confused, and he fucking _loved_ Franco and it hurt him that he didn’t know why Franco was crying.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just,” Franco sobbed. “I like you a lot and I didn’t want to screw this up. I was scared. I’ve never done this before.”

“It’s okay,” Isco whispered. “It went well. Yeah?”

“They love you.”

Isco laughed. “I wouldn’t say they _love_ me. We only spoke like, three lines.”

“They do. They made it their thing from the very start not to butt into our social lives. Me, Fede, and Nico. So they’ve never voluntarily said they want to meet someone. Unless we offer first, then they’ll say yes. And they said they want to meet you. They’ve never said that to anyone.”

“Maybe they just want to meet me because they want to see if I’m bad.”

“Don’t say that. Alarcon. Don’t say that.”

“You don’t know it’s not true.”

“It’s not. I know my parents. Trust me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I meant what I said about…about liking you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

Isco smiled. “I know,” he whispered. He gave the side of Franco’s neck a kiss.

“I just,” Franco started, and then burst into tears again, hugging Isco more tightly against him. “Alarcon, I don’t know if it’s just because I’m tired and sleepy or whatever, but my heart is so full. It’s _so full,_ Alarcon. So full.”

Isco just. Just held him. He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know what else to _say_ , except that he loved Franco. _I love you,_ he wanted to say. But he was too afraid to. He knew Franco would be too afraid to hear it.

So he just held Franco and kissed the little patch of skin above his ear and rocked him until he was calm again. And the words, those three words, just ran in his head over and over again, quick and loud and violent like a freight train. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

“My heart’s really full, too,” Isco said once Franco had calmed down considerably. “As full as it has ever been.”

Franco pulled away, but only his head, and gazed at Isco. His brown eyes were. They were really distracting. Isco could stare into those garnet pools all day. “So, breakfast date tomorrow morning?” he asked with a smile.

Isco nodded. “Can’t wait,” he whispered, earning himself a kiss.

Then Franco decided he’d like to be hugged to sleep, and he made Isco be the big spoon but Isco wasn’t _big_ so he ended up just clinging to Franco’s back like a backpack. But Franco wrapped Isco’s hands into a little ball and covered them with his own and held Isco in place, and Isco literally felt like there was no other place on earth he’d rather be.

He fell asleep wishing that he could wake up to Franco every day, that they didn’t live in two different cities, so near yet so far from each other.

\------

Isco was the first to wake the next morning, which was actually not even a surprise anymore. Franco was old and tired. Or maybe he was just a heavy sleeper. Or all three.

Anyway, he woke up to Isco just lying there and fucking staring at him like some creep. Didn’t even look away when Franco opened his eyes. Just smiled.

He had one of Franco’s hands in his and was just cradling it gently. Franco pressed the palm of his other hand into Isco’s face, squishing it and making him laugh.

“Let’s go,” he said, muffled under Franco’s palm. “It’s past eight.”

“What time do you need to be at training?”

“Just by today. I want to get there by lunchtime.”

Franco moved to kiss Isco, just. Just like, a good morning kiss. But Isco held him back by his chest, saying, “Morning breath.”

And okay, Franco was someone who was neither familiar nor capable of dealing with morning breath. But he also realised that he _didn’t care_ , so he just removed Isco’s hand and kissed Isco on the lips.

It turned out he could only deal with it for three seconds.

Isco laughed when Franco pulled away with a grimace. He wasn’t offended; Franco knew he wasn’t offended, because he never failed to poke fun at Franco for being a gigantic clean freak and he did everything he could to accommodate Franco.

They got out of bed, Isco to the bathroom to brush his teeth and Franco to Junior’s room to see if he was awake. It turned out he was, and was just snoozing chest-down in his cot with his eyes half-open. Bubu lay on the rug, mirroring Junior’s position, his four legs sprawled out in all directions. It was so fucking adorable. Franco had some time to take it in before Junior saw him and lifted a hand, waving his fingers so Franco would go over.

So Franco went over and let Junior pull on his fingers to get himself on his feet. He clung on to Franco’s neck automatically, so Franco attempted to take him to the bathroom to find Isco, but found Bubu now sprawled peacefully over his feet.

“Your entire family loves clinging to me, huh?” Franco asked Junior. He didn’t get any response.

Franco sighed and scooped Bubu up in his free arm. He carried them to the bathroom and stood at the door, behind Isco, watching Isco brush his teeth in the mirror. Isco smiled through all his toothpaste when he saw them there, Franco in the middle, his arms acting as seats for Bubu and Junior. Bubu was resting quietly on Franco’s shoulder. Junior was looking around curiously, his hands fidgeting with the collar of Franco’s t-shirt.

“He’s like a bird,” Franco said, referring to Junior and all his looking around.

Isco spat his toothpaste out and rinsed his mouth. “I thought he’s a bean.”

“He’s both.”

“A bean and a bird,” Isco said thoughtfully. “A _beard_.”

He proceeded to explode into loud wheezing laughter as Franco just stared at him in disbelief. He clutched his stomach as he laughed, and it wasn’t all that funny at first but Franco eventually caved, because okay, it was a _little_ funny and Isco’s laughter was enough to make up the rest.

Isco giggled his way to where Franco was standing and took Junior from him, feeling up his diaper. “Baby’s all gooey in the morning, huh?” he said in a ridiculous baby voice, booping his nose against Junior’s and making Junior smile.

He put Junior on a dry area of the bathroom counter and started to change his diaper, making quirky faces at Junior as the smell wafted throughout the bathroom. He wet a towel with some warm water and used it to wipe Junior’s diaper area. He narrated the entire process to himself using simple words with a silly voice, as if Junior could understand. Junior just watched and occasionally giggled and tried to reach for Isco with his tiny grabby hands.

Franco put Bubu on the ground outside the bathroom and went over to join Isco and Junior. He wrapped his arms around Isco’s waist and rested his chin on Isco’s shoulder. Junior smiled when Franco’s head popped into view. Franco smiled back at him and got more grabby hands in return.

“Can’t believe you named your son Isco Junior and your dog Bubu,” he told Isco.

“You want me to name my son Bubu and my dog Isco Junior?” Isco asked.

“No, what the f – fish,” Franco said. “It’s just. Weird. I don’t know. But then again, if you didn’t do it this way then it would be very not you.”

Isco smiled in agreement. He washed his hands as Franco helped to button Junior’s onesie. He tried to pass Junior to Isco, but Junior grabbed hold of Franco’s sleeve and wouldn’t let go, so they had to ferry him outside like that, Franco holding his armpits and Isco holding his feet. Junior had a good time, to say the least.

Franco spent like, a half-hour waiting for Isco because – because well, Isco was a vain piece of shit and just left Franco sitting in the living room while he chose his outfit. He _chose his outfit_. When Franco yelled at him, he said, “This is a life changing event! I’m going to look my best in all the damn photos that are going to be all over the internet tonight.”

Fuck, what did Franco get himself into?

Anyway, he was made to participate by answering all of Isco’s ‘do I look better in this jacket or that jacket?’ and ‘do these pants fit me right?’ questions. Then he began wondering if _he_ should pay this much attention to his clothes. After all, these were gonna be like, iconic pictures or something.

He told Isco that and Isco responded by saying, “Why the fuck do you have to worry? You look good in anything.”

Honestly, fuck him. Franco loved him, but fuck him for making Franco all melty.

Franco had aged thirty years by the time Isco was done. He came out in – what the fuck, he came out in the simplest outfit ever. A white t-shirt under a black jacket, black ripped jeans, and white sneakers.

“I waited three hours for _this_?” Franco asked.

“Fuck you,” Isco said.

“Fuck _you_ , you’re wearing the _same outfit as me_.”

“Then we match,” Isco said, not seeming to care that they’d look ridiculous.

What in the _world_ could Franco _do_ with him?

Franco sighed as he followed Isco to Junior’s play area to collect him. He was included in their little outing, because they didn’t see why not – and honestly, Franco was fucking relieved that Isco didn’t spend another three hours or whatever trying to choose Junior’s outfit, because Franco had already put him in his best outfit, a cute denim jacket and khaki pants.

And then they decided to take Bubu along, too, because if they were going to put on the biggest show of their lives, they might as well go as an entire set. They stood at Isco’s front door for a while, looking out at the driveway. Thinking about how their lives were going to change once they stepped out of the building.

At least, Franco was thinking that. Isco wasn’t. That was made evident by him suddenly turning to Franco and informing him, “I need to take Bubu’s shoes.”

“Bubu has shoes?” Franco asked. “And why?”

“Why he has shoes or why I have to take his shoes?”

“Let’s go with the second one,” Franco said, because he had a feeling the first one was going to have Isco start babbling for at least five minutes.

“The ground’s wet. It rained yesterday night. His feet will get cold.”

“I don’t see you getting worried about _my_ feet,” Franco grumbled. No one heard him except Junior. Who had no response except to continue playing with the fabric of Franco's shirt with his tiny fingers.

Anyway, Isco returned with Bubu all decked out in shoes which had football boot designs on them. In neon green. “What the f – fish,” was all Franco could afford. Bubu looked ridiculous. The fur at his feet was all squashed and he looked like he had abnormally tiny feet.

Isco put him on the ground and watched as he wiggled his feet a little before taking a few steps. He unrolled the leash and turned to Franco with his hand held out as an offer for Franco to take. “Ready?” he asked.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do it like this,” Franco said.

Isco’s expression turned nervous. His eyes darted around Franco’s face. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” Franco waved vaguely. He wasn’t chickening out or anything. He needed Isco to know that. “Maybe we shouldn’t come out like that. Using the press. Maybe we should do it, like, on our own terms.”

Isco stared at him for a while. He looked confused. And also like, a little mad, and Franco didn’t know what to think of that. Franco was half afraid Isco would be annoyed and just go back inside.

Instead, Isco asked, “So how do you want to do it?”

Franco blinked at him once, surprised at how easy-going Isco was being. “Uh, I don’t know,” he finally said, shrugging. “Maybe…maybe we should post something on Instagram. And then go out together. So…so it’s _our_ word first.”

Isco smiled. He nodded. “Okay, let’s do that.”

He let Franco decide what position they would be in, because they’d established by then that Franco was better at photo-taking. Franco just settled with something simple.

They propped Isco’s phone up horizontally on a stack of books on the TV console, pointed at the couch in front of it. It was enough a distance away so that the both of them only occupied a small area about a third of the screen, in the right corner. Franco set the timer for ten seconds, more than enough time for him to get back to the couch and tell Isco to act natural. It turned out that he didn’t need to do that, though, because Isco automatically tucked himself into Franco’s shoulder when Franco sat down.

Franco draped his arm over Isco’s shoulders and smiled when Isco took the hand that was hanging over. He intertwined their fingers and gave Franco’s hand a squeeze. Franco turned, his cheek resting on the top of Isco’s head, and saw Isco with his eyes closed, eyelashes fanning his cheeks, and this really peaceful look on his face. Franco briefly wondered if he was just posing for the photo but realised that _no one_ could actually make a face that looked as naturally peaceful as that. Franco could stare at it forever. He _would have_ , had Isco not suddenly asked, “Has the photo been taken?”

Franco turned reluctantly and saw that the photo was done. He retrieved the phone and passed it back to Isco for some checking.

It was a really nice photograph. The both of them in their fucking matching outfits, sitting on the grey couch, the whole photo naturally greyscaled except for their faces. Franco was peering over Isco’s head like he was peeking at Isco resting. The tiniest matching smiles on their faces. All their feet propped up on the coffee table in front of them. It was a nice photo. It sent a strong silent message.

They posted it to both their Instagrams at the same time, without any caption. They tagged each other.

And then, because they were fucking _masters_ of scheming, they sat on the couch for about twenty minutes, enough time for people to respond. Watching their phones blow up with notifications on the coffee table in front of them.

Franco was suddenly hit by the fact that Isco had so easily gone along with his idea, that he had taken Franco’s thoughts into consideration, because he knew Franco liked doing things on his own terms. He didn’t disagree, didn’t argue that his way was right, not because he wanted to avoid a fight – _God_ , Franco knew Isco would _never_ avoid a fight because _Isco was always up for a fight_ if he truly believed in his way of doing things – but because he had tried to relate to Franco and ended up agreeing.

He leaned over and kissed Isco on the lips, surprising him.

“You are the best boyfriend in the world,” he whispered.

Isco smiled shyly. He gently ran his fingers through Franco’s quiff so it fell over to cover part of his forehead just like Isco liked. “Speak for yourself,” he said.

They got up, picked up Junior and Bubu, and got outside to the car with Isco’s luggage and all of Junior’s stuff. They half expected to get ambushed by some fans or super-quick-acting paparazzi, but much to their relief, they didn’t.

Things weren’t so much different when they got into the city for breakfast. Isco got out of the car, took Junior and Bubu out, and stood outside the passenger door waiting for Franco to finish having his mild freakout in the passenger seat.

He took Franco’s hand when Franco finally got out of his car, and as fucking clichéd as it all sounded, Franco felt everything melt away.

The world just. Just dissolved into the background. Isco smiled at Franco and it was just the brightest and most beautiful thing Franco had ever seen and in that moment Franco just forgot everything else existed.

“Which one do you want?” Isco asked, referring to Junior sitting on his arm and Bubu, whose leash was in Junior’s hand.

Franco took Junior and Isco took Bubu’s leash. They started walking down the street to this pet-friendly coffeeshop that Isco loved and kept saying he’d bring Franco to.

And then everything came rushing back.

The world that had melted away temporarily now came crashing back in, brakes screeching. Franco could _feel_ everyone’s eyes on them. Peering out of the bread shop. Stopping from across the road. Smiling at them as they passed. That last one wasn’t so bad, but the fact that _people were paying attention to them_ – Franco started to panic again, his vision tinted red at the edges as he turned to Isco for help.

“Focus on me,” Isco whispered. “On us. They don’t exist. Okay? Just us.”

Fuck, Franco wasn’t used to this _at all_. He was sure Isco was, certainly to a higher extent than Franco was, because after all he was a Real player and was like, six times more popular than Franco. Definitely popular enough to have people staring at him on the street. But Franco was different.

“Okay,” he said, anyway. He could try and do this. For Isco. For them both.

They got an inconspicuous outdoor table that was hidden in the corner, nearer to the entrance of the coffeeshop than it was to the street. Isco disappeared inside to order, leaving Franco alone with Bubu tied to the chair and Junior draped over his shoulder simply because he refused to get down.

He felt safe again when Isco returned.

“We’re the kind of couple that sits on the same side of the table?” Franco asked as Isco sat down in the chair next to him instead of opposite him.

“Yes,” Isco said without offering any verbal explanation. Instead, he just leaned over and kissed Franco on the lips before leaning on Franco’s free shoulder. And okay, that _was_ a good explanation. “How many photos do you think they’ve already taken of us?”

“Many, I hope,” Franco said. He didn’t understand why, but he wanted this to finally just get out there so he could live his life normally again. He told himself it was the first step that was the scariest.

Isco smiled, and he seemed to get that Franco wasn’t in the mood for any talking, so he filled all the silences by just talking about random things. When the food came, the waiter gave them both a friendly smile and an offer of congratulations and Franco was so relieved. He distracted himself by watching Isco feed Junior patiently and watching Bubu lap up his food – _yes,_ they had _food for dogs_ at this fucking coffeeshop – and soon everything settled again.

Everything was quiet as they left the coffeeshop. Franco wasn’t sure if it was because he had muted everything out or because Isco had run out of things to say. The second was confirmed to be true when Franco turned and saw Isco just looking at him and smiling quietly.

“Vazquez, papa wants a kiss,” Junior suggested from where he was, with his head resting on Franco’s shoulder and peeking at Isco from behind Franco’s head. “Vazquez kiss papa.”

Franco started to laugh but Isco reached over and poked Junior on the nose. “How do you even know that?” he asked.

Junior said nothing, just giggled and pushed his face into Franco’s neck. Franco pulled Isco closer and let go of his hand, instead wrapping his arm over Isco’s shoulders. He leaned over and kissed Isco on the lips, trying to make it as PG as possible given they were on the street. Isco’s arm gave Franco’s waist a squeeze, under Franco’s jacket and on top of Franco’s shirt.

“You okay?” he asked.

Franco nodded. He gave Isco’s nose a peck, then his forehead. Junior started to clap excitedly, and when the both of them turned to stare at him, only said, “See, I’m right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Franco laughed. “You want a kiss too?”

Junior nodded eagerly, so Franco switched arms so both he and Isco could pepper Junior with kisses.

They got back to the car safely, Franco taking the wheel and driving Isco to the meeting place of the Spain national team, after Isco keyed it into the GPS, of course. Isco didn’t really say anything for the entire journey, just asked Franco for a random space fact every three minutes. He leaned forward with his cheek resting on his hands on the dashboard, watching Franco with this eager gaze like he really cared and wasn’t just asking for fun, and Franco couldn’t even be mad that Isco wasn’t sitting properly because come on, that was some adorable charm this guy had.

There were a _ton_ of reporters waiting at the entrance to the training ground. Which wasn’t unusual, but seemed a little scary, especially given what they’d just done that morning. Franco stopped the car at the drop-off point and asked Isco, “So, uh, you gonna deal with them?”

Isco smiled encouragingly. “I’ll just go past them.”

“Can you?”

“Yeah, I’ll just brisk walk.”

Franco watched him gather all his things, including some random things in the glove compartment. He fidgeted around for a while, going down his mental list of what he was supposed to take. And Franco felt this. This burst of feeling in his chest. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even try. It was like. Not even his heart palpitating. In fact, it was sort of slowing down. Everything else just slowed down whenever Franco looked at Isco, everything blurred away, like Isco was the only person that existed in the universe.

And Franco thought – was this what love felt like?

If it was, then Franco certainly approved.

He was brought back to reality when Isco finally announced that he was done and leaving. He got out of the car and went to the boot, and Franco didn’t know why but he got out and followed Isco and took Isco’s luggage out of the boot for him like a gentleman.

“You’re gonna be okay with Junior?” Isco asked as Franco wrapped him in a hug. Franco could practically _feel_ the cameras all being turned to them. He could feel them _burning_ into his back.

“Yeah, I will,” he managed to say.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I –“ Isco started, but then stopped abruptly. “I…I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Franco whispered. “Hey. You’re gonna do great. Don’t worry about anything, okay?”

Isco smiled and nodded. He went over to the backseat and opened the door, and Franco laughed at the sounds of Junior clapping his hands again in the backseat. Isco gave him a big hug and a few kisses, and told him to ‘be good and listen to Vazquez.’ Then he got back to where Franco was and took his luggage.

“So…I’ll see you,” Isco said.

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. He gave Isco one last peck on the lips. For some reason, this departure seemed a hundred times harder than all the others that had passed. “I wish I could go with you.”

“Too bad, you have two nationalities but Spanish isn’t one of them.”

Franco chuckled. “Bye, Alarcon.”

“Bye,” he said, pulling his cap over his head after Franco gave it one last ruffle, to his annoyance. “You should leave when I get inside or they’ll all come swarming around the car.”

Isco turned and started walking down the cordoned path, head down to avoid eye contact with any journalists. Franco could hear bits and pieces of some questions being asked. He tried to drown them out – successfully, since it was always so easy to drown things out when Isco was involved.

Isco turned around when he was almost at the entrance. Franco gave him a little wave.

Isco blew a kiss back at him.

Franco started to laugh as a blush crept up his cheeks, but then he saw all the journalists turn to him, so he was like, oh fuck, and got back into the car quickly. He drove away once he saw Isco disappear inside.

The ride was completely silent until Junior randomly squealed, “Vazzzzquez!”

Franco laughed. “Hey, Alarcon.”

Junior continued randomly squealing Franco’s name all the way back to Isco’s place. Franco shushed him as they got inside the house and Junior’s voice was magnified. He couldn’t believe he was going to have at least a week with this kid. Franco was sure he was going to have the best time of his life.

He put Junior down in his play area and turned on the TV. He checked his phone to see if Isco’s parents had called – he was going to hang out with them and then send them to the airport – and instead saw a slew of notifications.

_Alvaro Morata created the group ‘Franco stinks.’_

Franco rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe Alvaro was Isco’s age.

_Alvaro Morata added Paulo Dybala, Isco Alarcon, and you._

The first message was sent by Alvaro. _Nice classy way of coming out,_ it read.

 _Of course. We’re classy,_ from Isco.

 _Right,_ from Alvaro. _Says the one who eats like a starving cannibal._

Franco laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was true.

_Paulo Dybala changed the group name to ‘21 >22.’_

_That’s mathematically incorrect_ , Isco pointed out. God, what a nerd.

 _Who the fuck cares_ , from Paulo.

Franco changed the group name to ‘22>21.’

 _Hello baby!!!!!!!!!_ Isco sent.

 _Gross,_ Franco replied. Even though, well. Even though he was blushing.

 _Aw, you’re shy and want to do this when we’re alone,_ Isco sent. _OK,_ was his next message, followed by a string of emoji hearts.

 _No,_ Alvaro sent.

 _No,_ Paulo followed.

 _No,_ Franco joined, just for fun.

 _Fuck y’all. You’re mean,_ Isco sent.

 _Anyway, congrats on the announcement,_ Paulo sent.

 _Thanks,_ Franco replied.

The conversation went silent but Franco couldn’t stop smiling. He opened the text window he had with Isco. The last message was _‘See you soon’_ followed by a purple heart, sent by Isco when Franco had informed him he’d alighted the train in Madrid the previous morning. Isco loved using emoji hearts.

So Franco scrolled through his emoji keyboard until he got to the hearts. He looked through all of them – Jesus, why were there even so many hearts? – and chose the one he thought looked the nicest. Which was the red heart.

He sent it to Isco, just one red heart, and discovered that besides just blowing up like the other coloured hearts, it also started _beating_ in the text window. Wow. It was actually. That was actually pretty great.

Isco replied a moment later. _EL MUDO SENT ME A HUGE RED HEART!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

Franco rolled his eyes. Isco somehow managed to be fucking annoying and utterly endearing at the exact same time.

 _Shut up,_ Franco sent.

_I won’t shut up about this iconic moment. See? You wanted to do it when we’re alone. Don’t deny it._

Franco sent a middle finger emoji.

He received something worse than emoji hearts – he received the emoji that was winking and blowing a kiss.

Franco dumped the phone on the table without replying. He shoved his face into one of the couch cushions because it was _burning_ and Franco thought if it was possible to blush one’s face off, then that was currently what he was heading towards. _God_ , Franco had no idea when he’d become so fucking mushy and romantic and _soft_.

He spent the rest of the time he had alone with his head stuffed in that pillow, wondering if he was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute things to call your OTP:  
> \- Francisco (I know I've mentioned this like 5 times to different people but can you believe their ship name is just Isco's name? I hate them)  
> \- Franny V. and Franny A.  
> \- Franny tol and Franny smol  
> \- Franny no and Franny yes  
> \- Franny bighands and Franny tinyhands  
> \- String bean and kidney bean  
> \- Neptune and Uranus  
> \- Red giant and white dwarf  
> \- Angry tol and dirty smol  
> \- Idiots  
> \- Please add to this list


	20. Now That You Are Here Suddenly You Fear You've Lost Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Weight of Living, Part II by Bastille.

By the next day, the media had exploded about Franco and Isco’s relationship.

There were pictures of them on the way to the coffeeshop. Of them having their breakfast in their little secluded corner table. Isco and Franco taking turns to feed Junior. Sitting on the same side of the table and kissing and holding hands and Isco just nuzzling his head into Franco’s shoulder. On their way back to the car, holding hands. Making out a little. Kissing Junior all over his tiny face. At the Spain team grounds, collecting Isco’s luggage and bidding goodbye. Kissing again. Franco caught with this really cheesy smile on his face as Isco put his cap on. And finally, Isco turning to blow Franco a kiss. The photograph that they’d both posted on Instagram was also plastered on every article. ‘Double date?’ was the most common phrase in the headlines, along with Paulo and Alvaro’s names in the article.

God, it was fucking embarrassing.

It was also a little creepy, because even though Franco knew that there were people following them and taking photos all the time, this was the first time he actually saw it to this extent. Franco had a feeling this was his life now. At first thought, Franco might’ve felt like it was all slipping out of his hands again. Like everything was just exposed and Franco could do nothing about it.

But on second thought, it was the exact opposite.

They _were_ in control, but now in Isco’s way instead of Franco’s. The ‘bare it to the world so we don’t have to be afraid of anything’ way of taking control. It didn’t seem like a bad idea at all. Besides, all of this had panned out exactly the way Isco and Franco had wanted it to in the first place.

Franco had told his agent and every other journalist who contacted him that he wasn’t going to answer any questions. At least not when Isco was away. The only question he was willing to answer was the most obvious one: ‘Are you two in a relationship?’

To which the answer was, painfully obviously, yes.

Anyway, Franco was going to have Junior for six whole days before travelling to Málaga to meet Isco’s parents again. He decided to stay at Isco’s place, since Junior’s things were all there. He slept on Isco’s side of the bed, his face pressed into Isco’s pillow just enough for him to breathe in Isco’s scent. It was fucking cheesy as fuck, but no one was around to judge Franco, so Franco was like whatever.

On the third day, he realised he hadn’t brought enough clothes to last a week.

 _I don’t have enough clothes_ , he texted Isco.

 _Do your fucking laundry_ , was the reply.

 _I don’t wanna_.

_Get some new clothes then. Get some things that aren’t white or black._

_Fuck you. I like white and black._

_You can take Junior shopping with you._

Franco turned to Junior next to him. He was playing quietly with his wooden building blocks.

_You’re pretty smart, Alarcon._

_I know, thanks._

_Is that why Junior’s so smart?_

_Of course. Are you praising me? El Mudo is praising me._

_Fuck off._

_Unbelievable._

_I’ll take him shopping in the afternoon._

_Yeah. I know you kinda run out of things to do after a few days. After you’ve exhausted all your tricks._

_Thanks._

_Thanks for taking care of my son_ , Isco replied, followed by a kissy emoji again.

Franco put his phone aside. He grabbed Junior by his underarms, surprising him into a little giggle. He lay on his back and put Junior on his tummy, bending his knees so Junior could lean on his thighs. Junior decided he’d like to flop on his front over Franco instead, so he pressed his cheek on Franco’s nose.

“Wanna go shopping with me later?” Franco asked softly into Junior’s ear. He tilted his head to press a kiss to Junior’s cheek. “Hmm?”

Junior gave another little laugh in response.

Franco took that as a yes, even though he’d never actually brought Junior – or any kid – out by himself before. But he guessed he could do it. He’d been with Nicolas and Fausto countless times. And Isco and Junior, too.

Junior just lay there quietly, fiddling with Franco’s hair and earlobes and collar and basically anything he could get his hands on. It was one in the afternoon, the exact time for his afternoon nap, when he dozed off on Franco’s shoulder.

Franco thought of getting up to make himself some lunch, but he didn’t want to wake Junior. Besides, he was kinda lazy. So he just reached for his phone and played with it for a while, careful not to let it fall on Junior’s head.

A notification from Instagram suddenly popped up, reading, _iscoalarcon tagged you in a photo._

Franco opened it, half-excited and half-afraid.

It was one of those paparazzi shots of them on the street after breakfast, walking back to the car. Junior was on Franco’s arm between them with his cheeks being squished in by all the kisses Isco and Franco were planting on them. The caption read, _Gracias,_ with a green heart.

Franco smiled. His heartbeat began to quicken and he was briefly worried it would wake Junior up. He like the photo and waited for the blush on his cheeks to subside before he took a photo of Junior sleeping on his chest, his face pressed into Junior’s hair. Junior’s arm was curled up on himself and his mouth was open so he was drooling a little on Franco’s shirt. It was gross and adorable at the same time. And Franco had like, three chins in the photo, but it didn’t matter.

He posted it on Instagram with the caption, _De nada,_ and a brunette baby emoji. He tagged Isco on Junior’s face.

Then his stomach growled and disturbed Junior a little, so Franco got up and placed him in his cot before heading to the kitchen to cook them both a late lunch. He made an omelette stuffed with carrots and peas, large enough for the both of them to share. He finished it just as Junior was waking up from his nap, and brought it into the room so the scent would wake Junior up.

Indeed, he got up almost immediately and stood up in his cot, swatting his hands at Franco to try and get some food. Franco scooped him up and made him wash his hands before watching him eat with his hands.

He checked his phone again and saw notifications from Instagram.

_Instagram: iscoalarcon liked your photo._

_Instagram: iscoalarcon commented on your photo: Is this why you ran out of clothes? Because you let him drool on all of them?_

Franco replied it with a middle finger emoji.

“Vazquez,” Junior called. He jabbed his finger at Franco’s plate, which Franco had barely touched. Then he grabbed a handful of his omelette and offered it to Franco.

Franco ate it, because how was it even possible to reject Junior’s little face?

After they were done, Franco drove into town with Junior, forgetting that it was his first time out in town after he and Isco had come out. He only realised when they’d parked at the mall and were getting out of the car, and a couple of fans had seen them and come up to them to talk. He’d talked to Isco about this and they’d concluded that Franco should just do anything he wanted as long as he was comfortable with it, so Franco obliged to their photo request and answered their questions politely. This wasn’t too hard, he guessed. Junior certainly thought otherwise, because he just buried his head in Franco’s neck and refused to get out of there.

Franco rounded the mall once to see if there were any particular shops that caught his eye. He stopped at the directory and took a look at it. “Where should we go first?” he asked Junior.

He didn’t expect a response, but Junior pointed his finger in a random direction and Franco decided to just follow it.

They spent the next two hours flitting in and out of stores, being greeted by nice salespeople and eager fans alike. People seemed to be very welcoming of the fact that Franco was just casually hanging out with Isco’s son. It calmed Franco, but he couldn’t help but just wonder if he was missing something out. Maybe he was unconsciously filtering out all the bad things. Zoning out, as Isco would say. Or zoning _in,_ into his comfort zone.

Whatever it was, Franco decided it was best that he distract himself with Junior. He could barely put Junior on the floor and let him walk by himself while Franco chose his clothes, because Junior would just head straight into the racks and sit in there behind the clothes, giggling and waiting for Franco to come fetch him. By the third store, Franco figured out he had to carry Junior in one hand while he picked out clothes with the other. It worked pretty well, too, because Franco could ask Junior for his opinion on the clothes Franco was picking out.

“What about this?” Franco asked, holding up a light grey sweater.

Junior shook his head. He jabbed a finger at the sweater Franco was wearing.

“That’s white, you know,” Franco grumbled. “They’re not all the same. You’re just like your papa.”

Junior just smiled at the mention of his dad. He nodded at the next thing Franco picked up, a dark green polo shirt.

Franco sighed. He got it. Junior liked bright colours. Not _bright_ per se, but anything that wasn’t monotone. He guessed that worked. At least Junior suited Isco’s plan for Franco.

Thankfully, there was a chair in the fitting room. Junior sat on it quietly, holding Franco’s clothes and managing not to drool on them, as Franco tried on all the shirts. He gave little yelps of approval and groans of disapproval. It wasn’t any surprise that he approved all the brightly-coloured clothes.

Franco ended up with three bags from three different stores, a total of six new shirts, none of which were black or grey or white.

“Do you realise your papa also wears black and white all the time?” he asked Junior. “What a hypocrite.”

“What’s a hypocrite?” Junior asked, completely slaughtering the pronunciation.

“Nothing,” Franco said. He started walking back to the store they just left. “Let’s pick a shirt for papa too.”

Franco bought an extra piece of one of the shirts he’d just bought – a maroon t-shirt with a huge football print, in a size smaller. He bought a baby one, too, for Junior. He didn’t appreciate the whole matching thing, but he knew Isco would, so he just went with it.

They passed a sporting apparel shop on their way to a restaurant for dinner. The shopkeeper recognized them immediately when they stepped in, and gave Franco a little awkward smile because the main display was all the Real Madrid merchandise. Franco gave her a friendly smile and headed straight to the Sevilla section. He picked out two Sevilla jerseys, one in his size and one in Junior’s. Then he changed the both of them into the kits and asked the shopkeeper to help them take a photo.

She took a photo of them laughing conspiratorially at each other, and Franco was really pleased. He ended up buying the baby Sevilla kit for Junior, just for the laughs.

Then they had dinner in a restaurant and Junior, who had been relatively quiet the entire time, started babbling to himself. Franco was secretly grateful that they’d gotten a corner table and it was past the usual dinnertime so Junior wasn’t disturbing anyone. It wasn’t like he could ask Junior to shut up – firstly, Junior was two years old and it was healthy for him to ask all the questions he was asking, no matter how lame they were; and secondly, how could Franco ever bear to?

Unfortunately, all this meant that Junior was so tired he dozed off in the car on the way home.

He fussed a little when Franco took him out of the car, and whined all the way back into Isco’s house. Franco couldn’t even bathe him without him starting to fuss even louder, so he just wiped Junior down with a warm cloth and put him in bed.

And _even then_ Junior wasn’t contented, and fussed even more until Franco took him back to Isco’s room and slept with him in the big bed. Franco couldn’t even leave him to get a shower himself. He could only wipe himself down with a warm towel, too, and change into his dirty pyjamas from two nights ago before crawling under the sheets with Junior. Junior stopped fidgeting when he got a firm grip of Franco’s shirt.

“Night, Vazquez,” he murmured.

“Night,” Franco smiled. “You had fun today?”

Junior nodded without opening his eyes. “Very fun.”

Franco kissed him on his little button nose. He was afraid that Junior would roll off the bed when he was sleeping, so he gathered all the extra pillows and made a pillow wall around him.

Taking care of a kid wasn’t so difficult if the kid was Junior.

Franco hoped the kid he got in the future, wherever it might come from, was just like Junior.

He got up and took out all his new clothes from their bags, folding them nicely and placing them around Junior. Everything except the Sevilla kit, because that was another whole surprise on its own. He took a photo of Junior sleeping peacefully in the middle of all the clothes and sent it to Isco.

 _Good night,_ he typed.

 _Early,_ Isco replied a couple of minutes later. Which was, well, true. It was only nine.

_I realise I always tire him out._

_That’s not a bad thing. Babies need to be stimulated._

God, what a nerd.

 _How’s things?_ Franco asked.

 _Good,_ Isco said. _I can’t wait to see you guys._

Franco smiled. _Me, too,_ he sent. _Are you happy with my new clothes?_

_Very. Wear something nice on Saturday._

_Okay._

Isco replied with the huge beating red emoji heart.

Franco kept all his new clothes and got into bed next to Junior again. He used his finger to gently stroke Junior’s cheek, and Junior took it and just held it in his hand like it was a replacement soft toy.

Franco fell asleep watching Junior, just relieved to have at least this tiny bit of Isco with him.

\------

There was only one bad thing about rooming with Alvaro all the time, even during the international break.

He was a huge busybody.

He could not stop “updating” the group chat about what Isco was doing. Isco was taking too long in the shower. Isco was always late for breakfast. Isco woke up really loudly. Isco texted Franco all the time and it was disgusting (honestly, who was he to talk? He texted Paulo all the fucking time, too). Isco couldn’t stop posting photos of him and Franco on Instagram (okay, that was true, Isco couldn’t deny it). Isco couldn’t stop applying this really disgusting-smelling thing on his beard.

That was when Franco had finally gotten enough of it and butted in, in his super mad, full block letters mode: _HE’S TAKING CARE OF HIS BEARD, WHY DON’T YOU LET MY BOYFRIEND BE, MORATA?!_

Isco turned in his bed and flashed Alvaro a big smile. Alvaro rolled his eyes.

Isco scrolled through his collection of paparazzi photos – there were so many of them, especially after Franco had brought Junior out shopping and had like, five hundred fan photos taken. Isco bet he could post one photo a day and not run out of them for an entire year. Isco was just glad that no one had made any snarky comments online about Franco hanging out with his boyfriend’s kid. At least, Isco hadn’t come across any, and if Franco had, he didn’t mention it to Isco.

Anyway, he decided to post another photo, just for the fun of it. He chose this sneaky shot of their backs while they had breakfast on the day Isco left, hidden in their corner table under a dark green garden umbrella, Junior in Isco’s arms and Isco’s head resting on Franco’s shoulder. He tagged Franco and used the explosion emoji as his caption. No particular reason, just. Just that it seemed to fit.

Franco liked it almost immediately, making Isco smile this huge cheesy smile that hurt his cheeks. Isco went to his own profile and took a look at it. His five latest photos were all about Franco. That was almost two rows.

Alvaro liked the photo, too, and a moment later asked Isco, “Why do you keep posting about him when he doesn’t post about you?”

Isco clicked on Franco’s username. Franco only had two photos about Isco – the coming out one and the one with Junior. Contrary to Alvaro’s expectations, it didn’t disappoint Isco one bit.

“He doesn’t mind,” Isco said. He knew that as a fact. Franco had basically encouraged Isco to post more. He’d even helped Isco pick out the photos sometimes.

“What about you?” Alvaro asked. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Isco said. “It’s just like that. It’s how we are. Franco likes to be quiet and I like to be loud. We like that about each other. The fact that he’s quieter than me about the relationship doesn’t say anything about it. It doesn’t say we feel differently about it. Alvaro. It’s just. What Franco doesn’t say means so, so much more than what he _does_ say.”

A long pause from Alvaro, then, “Yeah.”

“I mean, wasn’t Paulo kinda like that too?” Isco asked. Alvaro had talked to him about it. “When you first got together and he wasn’t used to all the social media stuff.”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said again. “It’s just, he got it really quickly. And I don’t know, you and Franco are just…super different. Like really, really different.”

“We aren’t,” Isco said softly. He remembered what Franco said about them being the same person. And he agreed. “We just appear to be different.”

“God, you’re smiling again, aren’t you?” Alvaro groaned. “I can’t even see your face and I know you’re smiling.”

“Look, I had to deal with all your Paulo shit. And you smiling all the time because of Paulo. So let me have this, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I just,” Alvaro sighed. “You know, the way I care. About things.”

“Yeah,” Isco said. Alvaro was the one person who cared about him the most outside of his family and Franco. And the way he cared was prying but effective. Just like the way Isco cared about things. It was really no surprise they were such good friends. “I know. Thanks.”

“Well, then,” Alvaro said, picking his phone up again and sliding under the sheets. “I’mma call Paulo.”

Isco sighed, but not in annoyance, just. Just a general sigh. He puffed his pillow up and tried to sleep, but it was way too early. It was just past nine. Maybe he should call Franco. Even though the match was the next day and Franco was going to be there. Talking to Franco made Isco feel so calm.

He took his phone and saw a notification. _Instagram: fdv2289 tagged you in a photo._

Isco opened it hesitantly.

It was a photo of Junior sitting on Franco’s arm. The both of them were giggling mischievously at each other with huge, teethy smiles on their faces. And they were both wearing _Sevilla jerseys_. The caption was just a single purple devil emoji.

Isco burst into laughter. He couldn’t help it. He just burst into laughter because Junior looked so ridiculous and Franco looked so _happy_ and Isco was just. He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his ribcage. Maybe he didn’t need another mom for his child because he already had an awesome one. He could have another _dad_ for his child. And maybe Franco was that dad, and he was the best dad _ever_.

“Isco’s laughing to himself and he looks dumb,” he vaguely heard Alvaro say into the phone.

“Stop bullying him,” he also heard Paulo say, in a murmur.

“Look at Franco’s Instagram,” Isco said. He practically had tears streaming down his face.

He went outside the room and propped the door open with the latch. He squatted on the ground next to the door and dialed Franco’s number.

He was still laughing when Franco took the call. “Hey,” Franco greeted him, but Isco couldn’t answer, just started laughing harder. Franco ended up laughing along with him, half in confusion and half in amusement.

“How _dare_ you,” Isco finally managed to choke.

Franco gave a loud chuckle. “We’re cute, don’t you think?”

“Very,” Isco said.

“Man, I miss you,” Franco sighed.

“Awww,” Isco smiled. “ _El Mudo_ misses me.”

“I do, now shut the fuck up.”

“Never.”

A short silence.

“I miss you, too,” Isco finally whispered.

Franco laughed softly. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“How’s everything?” Isco asked. “Have you…has, like, anyone bothered you? Are you okay with Junior?”

“No one’s bothered me,” Franco said. “I mean, I haven’t been reading comments, so…yeah. And Junior’s fine, he just fell asleep.”

“It’s best not to read the comments,” Isco said.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for taking care of Junior.”

“Nah,” Franco said. “I had a really great time.”

Another silence.

“Franco,” Isco whispered. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you…are you okay with me posting so many photos?”

“Of course I am,” Franco replied without any hesitation. “Alarcon. You know that. You don’t have to ask me.”

“I know, it’s just. Just that Alvaro said –“

“Fuck Alvaro.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah. We’ll do us.”

“Mmhmm,” Franco murmured. “But what did Alvaro say?”

“He asked me how I felt about posting more photos than you’re posting.”

“That’s lame.”

“I told him just because we’re different levels of public about our relationship doesn’t say anything about the strength of it,” Isco said. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Franco said. “Hey. I like you. You know that. You know that from me and I don’t want you to know that from anyone else.”

Isco shut his eyes and curled his legs more tightly against himself. His heart was beating so quickly he was almost sure it was going to break some kind of world record. Part of him just wanted to say it, just wanted to say those three words, _I love you_. Part of him still knew Franco wasn’t ready to hear them. And the last part of him knew he was at it again, hiding who he was and what he wanted to say. But that very same part of him knew he had to do this for Franco.

“You’re quiet,” Franco said softly.

“Nah, I’m just,” Isco ran his fingers through his hair. “Just thinking.”

“You don’t usually think,” Franco said.

It made Isco laugh. Franco _always_ knew what to do. What to say. He _always did_.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” Isco finally said.

“I’m going to kiss you so hard,” Franco whispered.

Isco smiled. He didn’t remember Franco ever acting this clingy. He didn’t remember _himself_ ever being so clingy, so desperate to see someone, even after less than a week. He wasn’t like that. _They_ weren’t like that. Isco and Franco had never been dependent on anyone else.

Isco guessed this meant they were working quickly towards that whole ‘I love you’ thing. It calmed him a little.

“Franco,” Isco said after the longest silence. “You’re a great boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” Franco laughed softly. “Thank you.”

“I just. I don’t want you to doubt that. Okay? You’re taking care of my son. _My son_. He’s not related to you in any way. But you treat him like yours, you have since day one, without any questions. Not everyone…not everyone can do that. Not everyone can treat their boyfriend’s son without any prejudice like you do. Franco, I – I just, yeah.”

“Hey,” Franco whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I miss you so much,” Isco sobbed. He was _crying_ , God, it was so fucking embarrassing.

“Alarcon,” Franco said, and he sounded a little frantic. “Hey. Hey. Don’t cry.”

“I’m trying,” Isco breathed, his voice thick.

“Fuck, I wish I was there right now.”

“Me, too.”

A short pause from Franco. “Alarcon, you’re gonna go out there tomorrow and ace it, and then I’ll see you after the match and we can hug it the fuck out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And then when you’re back we can fuck all day because Junior’s gonna be with Sonia.”

Isco laughed through his veil of tears. “Deal.”

“Now we’ll both go to sleep and have nice dreams of each other, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Night, Alarcon.”

“Night, Vazquez.”

They just sat there for a while, silently.

Franco finally hung up the phone with a fond chuckle.

Isco sat there with the phone still held to his ear. The display brightened to his home screen after a few seconds, and then a minute later, turned off while still being pressed to Isco’s cheek.

“I love you,” Isco whispered to no one.

He wiped his face dry with the back of his hands, stood up, took a deep breath, and went inside the room, locking the door behind him. Alvaro was already in bed, his bedside lamp turned off. Which meant he was already asleep. Or at least trying. Isco decided not to disturb him.

Instead, he took out his phone again and opened Instagram to take another look at that photo of Franco and Junior in their matching Sevilla shirts. Paulo and Alvaro had liked the photo.

Franco had added on to the caption. It was now the devil emoji followed by a purple heart.

He had also changed his Instagram profile picture to this very photo.

Isco fell asleep clutching the phone to his chest.

\------

Franco had no fucking idea how to take a baby and a dog on a plane, so he took them on the train to Málaga instead, so Isco’s parents could drive them all to Granada.

Junior pouted all the way to the station, moody from having to get up so early. They had to catch a train before lunchtime to get to Málaga, and then Granada, in time for dinner and the match. Franco packed all of Junior’s things, checking them against the list Isco had texted him earlier. He put Bubu in his little carrier and checked that all his things were packed, too. Junior sat dozing on the couch while Franco took care of everything and locked all the windows and doors. He started pouting again when Franco scooped him up.

Thankfully, he calmed down a little when they got on the train. Franco let him take the window seat because he heard Isco’s voice in his head saying _‘babies need to be stimulated’_ and he would’ve felt guilty if he’d taken the window seat instead of Junior. He was glad, though, that Junior spent most of the time kneeling on his seat and staring out the window, just like Bubu was from his carrier on the table in front of them, with its opening facing the window. Junior occasionally squealed and pointed curiously when he saw something interesting.

His excitement was subdued by the time they were fully out of the city, so he turned to Franco for some entertainment. Franco smiled and pressed Junior’s hair back on his head. He couldn’t believe one week had just passed like that.

Junior crawled on his lap and decided that he didn’t want to leave, so Franco switched to the window seat. This way, both he _and_ Junior could be stimulated at the same time. Isco would probably be proud of them.

“Do you miss your papa?” Franco asked when Junior finally sat down quietly in his lap and stopped fidgeting around. He wrapped his hands around Junior’s waist like a seatbelt.

Junior nodded. “I miss papa.”

“I miss him, too. You’ll see him later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Then I’ll pass you to your mama, yeah?”

Junior nodded.

“Did you have fun with me?” Franco smiled when Junior’s face burst into a grin and he nodded again. “Yeah?”

“Lot of fun, Vazquez,” Junior wriggled around until he could lean forward on Franco’s abdomen, his tiny hands little warm spots on Franco’s ribs. He nuzzled his face into Franco’s shirt. “Vazquez, you my new papa?”

Franco couldn’t help but chuckle. That was such. Such an innocent question. “I don’t know,” he said. “Would you like it if I was your new papa?”

“Yeah,” Junior said, tilting his head up briefly to smile at Franco before shoving it into Franco’s shirt again. “Papa told me I’ll have two papas and one mama.”

“He did?” Franco whispered. That sort of. It sort of scared him and excited him at the same time. That Isco had thought so far ahead. But then again, Franco realised it probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise. After all, Junior was the entire world to Isco. Of course Junior’s wants and needs came first.

“Mmhmm,” Junior said. “Papa ask me if I like it.”

“And do you?”

“Yeah! More papas.”

“You want more papas?”

“I want many many papas.”

Franco laughed. Junior was probably using Isco as a template. It warmed Franco’s heart to see that Junior loved his dad as much as his dad loved him. “I don’t think it works that way.”

Junior sat up again and leaned back on Franco’s hands. He was silent for a while, like the tiny wheels in his tiny head were turning tiny circles. Then he said, “But papa said it’s tempura.”

Franco laughed again. “It’s what?”

“Papa said new papa is tempura.”

“What’s tempura?” Franco started laughing again. God, this child was ridiculous and Franco loved him.

“Tempura…ra. Rare. Tempura.”

“What does it mean?’

“Papa said…papa said it means we only have it for a short while. Then it’s gone.”

And then it hit Franco what Junior was trying to say.

 _Temporary_. He was trying to tell Franco that Franco was _temporary._

“Oh,” was all Franco managed to say in response to that. He felt his heart literally _shatter_.

“Vazquez my new papa?” Junior asked again. He leaned on Franco’s abdomen again.

Junior fell asleep before Franco could bring himself to respond. It was before his usual nap time, but Franco let him sleep. He was probably just tired because he’d woken up so early. Franco just hugged him tightly against his chest and watched everything fly by outside the window.

Franco never wanted to doubt Isco. He knew he could never _bring himself to_. Isco was just. He was the _first_ person, the _only_ person that Franco trusted with his entire life. The one person that Franco was willing to pass his control to. The one person who had ever, _ever_ , in Franco’s entire life, proven himself to be worthy of Franco trying to face his deepest fear.

And now, he was saying that he didn’t want to do that forever.

Forever seemed like a big word. Franco realised that. Forever was permanent. And Franco was not, but that was another point. Forever was permanent and Franco, for the first time in his life, had actually thought of spending it with someone else. With Isco. Maybe once Franco had made an emotional connection with someone, it couldn’t be broken. Franco wondered if it was normal to feel this sort of certainty so early in a relationship. He didn’t know if he was supposed to. He had no one to reference.

Franco didn’t believe that Isco chose not to come clean to him about this. That he perhaps, maybe, hopefully not – only saw them as a short-term thing. Franco trusted Isco to say it straight to Franco’s face if he’d actually thought of it. Isco had never been less straightforward than that.

So if he hadn’t, then maybe all of this was just a misunderstanding.

Maybe Junior had misinterpreted what Isco had been trying to tell him. Maybe Isco was talking about a whole other thing, something that didn’t have anything to do with Franco.

Whatever it was, Franco hoped that since Isco didn’t mention it to him directly, that it wasn’t true. Isco had had plenty of chances to mention it. They’d talked about their relationship, what they were going to do, how they felt – countless of times. And Isco had never once brought it up, never once told Franco that this wouldn’t be long-term. In fact, all his actions, everything that he had done and said and _let Franco do_ , pointed to the suggestion that this wasn’t just a quick fling.

Franco took a peek at the sleeping Junior. He didn’t blame Junior, either. Babies spouted nonsense all the time.

All in all, Franco wasn’t really sure how to feel. He decided right then that he wouldn’t mention it to Isco. Why sabotage his own relationship? And besides, Franco was good at keeping things to himself.

But he trusted Isco. He knew that for sure. He had no idea _how_ or _why_ or _what_ had made him fall so deep so quickly, but he knew that he trusted Isco.

He hoped that this wouldn’t turn out to be the wrong decision.

\------

It was a straightforward victory against Macedonia and Isco had only featured the last twenty minutes, so he was like, whatever.

Isco headed straight down the tunnel once the final whistle was blown.

And he saw Franco already there outside the locker room eagerly awaiting his arrival. Junior sat obediently on his arm, though he did start squealing loudly when Isco approached.

And they were both wearing the same dark red t-shirt with a football printed on the front.

Isco burst into laughter, resulting in a huge smile appearing on Franco’s face. Franco seemed to have a knack for this whole matching thing.

“Thought you’d appreciate this,” he said as Isco approached.

“I do,” Isco said. He loved getting matching clothes for himself and Junior.

Franco seemed to read his mind. “I got you one, too,” he said. “I left it on your bed.”

“We can be disgusting and all go out wearing the same shirt one day.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Papa,” Junior called, and he looked so happy to see Isco and Isco’s heart just melted. He reached out with his tiny arms. “Papa hold.”

Isco took him and pressed a kiss to his nose. “How are you?” he asked.

“I like Vazquez,” Junior replied.

“Yeah?” Isco laughed. “Me, too.”

Junior puckered his lips at Isco, and then pointed at Franco, like he was telling Isco to kiss Franco as a reward. So Isco did, although it was just a simple peck on the lips because Junior was literally only two years old and didn’t deserve to see anything more than that, and also Isco’s teammates were all beginning to stream in, including a very nosy Alvaro who attracted everyone’s attention towards Isco and Franco by very loudly yelling Franco’s name.

Then Isco’s parents appeared, and Isco attended to them for a while as they updated him on the plans for Junior. Franco just sort of disappeared for a while, and Isco turned around after handing Junior to his parents to see Franco just standing in the corner, leaning against the wall, watching them with loving brown eyes. They lit up with a puppy-like ‘it’s my turn again!’ look when Isco made his way towards him.

“Hey,” he whispered as he wrapped Isco into a warm hug.

“Hi,” Isco breathed him in. He smelled just like Isco remembered, and now Isco was in his boots so he could put his chin on Franco’s shoulder, and God, he felt like he could just stand there forever.

“I missed you,” Franco said.

“Me, too,” Isco smiled. “I missed you so much.”

“You stink,” Franco added.

Isco laughed. He pulled away from the hug and examined Franco for a moment. It had only been a week, but it’d seemed like forever. Maybe it was partly because it was the honeymoon phase of their relationship, but this one week, being away from Junior and Franco and his family, felt like forever to Isco.

Franco still looked beautiful, though. That hadn’t changed a bit. He was just peering at Isco, waiting for Isco to say something. His hands rested on either side of Isco’s waist.

Instead of saying anything, Isco reached up and kissed him again, even affording a little tongue, because by then Isco was just like whatever. He felt Franco smile into the kiss, before it turned into a grin and he pulled away, leaving their foreheads pressed.

“We’re in public,” he whispered.

“Your first goodnight kiss to me was frenching in public,” Isco pointed out, moving in to continue the kiss.

“There was no one around,” Franco murmured.

“There’s always no one around when I’m with you,” Isco whispered.

The brightest, most _dashing_ smile appeared on Franco’s face. He ran his fingers through Isco’s hair, not seeming to care that it was still a little sweaty. He gave Isco a lingering kiss on the lips.

“I wanna do this forever,” he half-mouthed, half-whispered.

Isco wasn’t sure what he was referring to. If he wanted to kiss Isco forever or look at Isco forever. If he wanted to hold Isco forever. Or if he wanted to _be with Isco_ forever.

But Isco realised no matter what it was, his answer was the same.

“I wanna do this forever, too,” Isco said.

Franco hadn’t been noticeably tense, but Isco felt him just. Just suddenly completely relax, physically. He leaned into Isco’s grasp, into Isco’s hands that were resting on his shoulders. His gaze faltered in relief.

“You like me enough for that?” he whispered.

Isco nodded. Of course he did. He couldn’t even remember what it was like not feeling that way. “For a long, long, _long_ time.”

Franco smiled. His eyes were shimmering, like he was going to cry, for some reason. “Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. He cupped Franco’s cheeks in his hands. “Hey, you okay?”

Franco nodded. He dove into the hug again and nuzzled his nose in the little patch of skin above Isco’s ear, taking a long, deep breath. And Isco didn’t know what to _do_ , so he just held Franco.

“So you’re spending the night in Granada?” Isco finally asked, realizing that he should probably try to distract Franco a little bit.

“Yeah, then tomorrow I’ll take a bus back to Seville.”

“You’re not going to Málaga?”

“No, why?”

“I just want to be the one who shows you my old room.”

Franco laughed softly. “Okay. I thought you just didn’t want me to meet Sonia.”

“That’s nonsense. You’ve already met her.”

“I know. But you’re silly.”

“Shut up, I’m not.”

“You are,” Franco said. He booped Isco on the nose.

Isco gave up. He kissed Franco again before pulling fully away from the hug. “So…I’ll see you soon, Franny.”

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. “See you soon, Franny.”

Isco kissed him again, shoving his tongue into Franco’s mouth for a second and running away when Franco started to laugh in surprise. But not before giving Franco’s hands a squeeze, though.

Alvaro was leaving for his shower when Isco passed. “You two should get a room,” he remarked when he passed Franco.

Franco glared at him, but Isco yelled, “Fuck off, Morata!”

So Alvaro fucked off, and the last Isco saw of Franco was his fond, loving smile directed at Isco, and just that. Just that was enough for Isco, no matter what was happening.

\------

Tabloids continued to churn out articles about Franco and Isco, even though they hadn’t been seen together since that night after Isco’s game in Granada. For the next week, all Franco saw was just photo after photo of him and Isco, article after article speculating about their relationship. Still, they didn’t disclose any details to the media if they could help it. All everyone needed to know was that they were together. They were a couple. There wasn’t going to be anything fancy because this type of relationship deserved to be a norm.

That worked well until the first week of December, when Paulo suddenly texted Franco, privately, a screenshot of a comment on one of Paulo’s Instagram posts with Alvaro.

_Fuck you two, fucking homos, just go to hell yourself. Don’t have to spread this fucking disease to your friends._

Isco was sitting next to him when he got the message, visiting Seville after a tough weekend for them both – Real Madrid drawing in El Clasico and Sevilla losing to Granada. Junior had extended his stay with Sonia by a week, so Isco was free to do whatever, and Franco was touched that he chose to travel to Seville. Even if he spent the majority of the time just draped on the couch with his feet shoved in Franco’s lap.

Anyway, Franco’s face must have paled when he saw the screenshot, because Isco suddenly sat up and pressed close to him and asked, “What happened?”

“What – what happened?” Franco said, hurriedly closing the attachment.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Isco stared at him for a while, eyes narrowed. Franco stared back, and Isco went back to his previous lying-down position once he was convinced.

Because Isco was popular as fuck and could literally build a small nation with all his Instagram followers, Franco clicked on Isco’s profile and looked at all the photos he’d posted with Franco. He tapped on one of them, which happened to be the one Isco posted the previous night, of their feet as they watched TV. He scrolled down the comments slowly.

 _So sweet_.

_I’m so glad this is a thing._

_All of y’all can fuck off. Can’t you see this is all just a conspiracy? The Rainbow Laces committee decided to take it one step further. How much are they paying you?_

_Double date photos with Paulo and Alvaro please!!!_

_It’s so nice that we can find love in the most unexpected places._

_@paulodybala @alvaromorata why did you drag your innocent friends into this? Being gay isn’t just a nice trend to follow._

_Everyone just leave them the fuck alone._

_Your story, however little I know of it, is such an inspiration._

_Don’t listen to the haters. I want you to know that I’m so happy to see such progress in the footballing world._

_This relationship is so fake._

Franco’s view was suddenly blocked by Isco’s hand as he reached over to cup the phone and gently pry it out of Franco’s shaking hands. He placed it gently on the table, face down.

“Don’t do that,” Isco whispered.

Franco just stared at him. He felt his lips moving but heard no words coming out of them.

“How long have you been reading them?” Isco asked.

“Just,” was all Franco managed to offer.

“Don’t do it,” Isco said again. “I mean, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but…but don’t do it.”

“How do you?” Franco asked. “Not do it? How do you…just go on without knowing if…if they approve?”

Isco shrugged. “I try,” he said. “For us. It’s the best for us.”

Franco wrapped his arms around Isco and tugged until Isco was half-draped over him, one thigh wedged between Franco’s. He didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve Isco. To deserve this one man who was Franco’s entire universe fit into a tiny, 1.76-meter frame. Franco’s greatest strength and Franco’s biggest weakness. All the emotions Franco was able to feel, the emotions Franco never knew he was capable of feeling. All inside this tiny, adorable, beautiful man.

“Do you ever wonder?” Franco whispered.

“Of course,” Isco whispered back. “But we’ve done all we can. They can say what they want. Ultimately, it’s us who decide what the right thing to do is. It’s us who decide how to live our lives. We can’t surrender our control to them, Franco. We can’t let them dictate how we feel. And if we just don’t read those things, then we have control. There are a few billion people out there in the world, Vazquez. We’re never going to get a consensus. So why should we try? What’s important is all those people whom we’ve already impacted. Those people who look up to us. If we falter, they falter as well. And we’re _not going to falter_. You know how I am, you know how desperately I always seek for approval. So if I can do this, if I can avoid all these comments, _you_ can do it too. Okay, Franco?”

“Okay,” Franco breathed, and heard Isco sigh in relief. He pressed his lips on Isco’s, hard. Hard enough to show Isco he meant it. “Okay.”

Isco lay draped over Franco for a while, straining upwards as they made out. He was probably trying to distract Franco. Trying to make Franco focus on the fact that _he had Isco_ instead of the fact that everyone was speculating _why he had Isco._ Whatever it was, it worked.

Isco eventually crawled into Franco’s lap and straddled him, and all the frenching was doing a wonderful job because soon they were rubbing boners.

“Fuck,” Franco murmured, pulling his head back so he could swallow all his spit.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Isco mouthed against the skin of Franco’s neck.

But they were both exhausted and didn’t even need to verbally communicate to know that they both weren’t up for any acrobatics on the narrow couch, so they both just took off their pants wordlessly and got back into the same positions. They grinded against each other until they both came, and it was just so fucking simple but Franco found his orgasm rocking his entire body, his hips eagerly thrusting upwards to get the crucial last bit of friction in the circle that Isco’s stubby fingers made as they surrounded both their dicks. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Isco needed _both_ his hands to do that.

It made Franco laugh fondly, and soon Isco joined in, having already climaxed a couple of minutes before Franco did. He leaned his cheek on Franco’s shoulder and sighed. “Holy shit,” he said.

“Don’t get any come on my couch or you’re gonna pay for it to be washed.”

“We’ll clean it ourselves. You send it out there for washing, the next day you’ll see a listing on eBay of a ‘sofa covered with Franco Vazquez and Isco Alarcon’s sperm.’”

“Fuck off,” Franco shoved him. Gently, because they were rapidly running out of energy. “You’re disgusting.”

“Starting bid is twenty thousand euros.”

“Our come isn’t worth that little.”

“Well, how much is it worth then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fifty thousand,” Isco said sleepily.

“Don’t you fucking dare fall asleep,” Franco said. He sighed and stood up, holding Isco’s thighs around him. “C’mon, let’s shower.”

So they showered, and Isco could barely stand on his own feet, that lazy ass, but they showered and got clean. Hit the reset button for Franco.

“You feeling better?” Isco asked when they were rolling into bed.

Franco nodded. He smiled when Isco shimmied up to him, pressing his warm face into Franco’s chest. “Has your dad mentioned about interview requests?”

“Yeah,” Isco mumbled. “But I thought we were going to do it together.”

“My agent keeps bugging me about it.”

“Do you want to do it?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

A long pause from Isco.

“They probably want to hype up the Copa del Rey match that’s gonna happen.”

“Even though I can’t play it.”

“Really?” Isco asked, surprised. “You can’t? Why?”

“I have a three-match ban from the Coppa Italia. This is the last match. Why’d you think I didn’t play the last round?”

“Naughty,” Isco teased, jabbing Franco’s nose with his finger.

“It’s a good thing, though,” Franco sighed. He wasn’t really looking forward to playing against Isco again. “Do you think we should do the interviews? Maybe when they get their answers they’ll stop pestering us.”

“Yeah,” Isco turned his head up to gaze at Franco. “Do you?”

“Can we, uh,” Franco shrugged. “Maybe just do one?”

Isco smiled, like he understood. Franco was a private person and he was trying to meet Isco in the middle. He gave Franco a light peck on the nose. “Yeah, we’ll just do one.”

So they chose the most prominent request – the La Liga PR team for the official La Liga website. Franco texted his agent and Isco texted his dad. They scheduled it for the week between Christmas and New Year’s.

Franco texted Paulo, _Sorry for dragging you guys into this. We’re going to give an interview after Christmas. Hopefully it’ll clear things up._

 _Not a problem, Franco,_ Paulo replied. _Just wondering if you guys have talked about it._

_We have now. Thanks, Dybala._

_You’re welcome._

He put his phone aside and saw Isco just lying there staring at him, arms sprawled in front of him and fingers playing lazily with the hem of Franco’s shirt. He was _just like Junior_. Isco was _a kid with a beard_. Franco gave him a little smile and received a super big one in return.

“So, uh,” Franco started. “My family is gonna be in Palermo for Christmas. My parents, they’ll be here.”

“Yeah?” Isco’s smile grew so big Franco was almost afraid his face was going to split into two. “Are you going to take me to see them?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah,” Isco said softly, and he actually sounded _shy_ and Franco was so fucking _fond_.

“Okay,” Franco whispered. He kissed Isco softly on the lips. “When you’re back from Japan.”

Isco nodded. He adjusted his head on the pillow as Franco turned on his side, so they were face to face. He placed his hand gently on Franco’s cheek and gave it a little squeeze. “Franco.”

“Yeah?”

“I just…don’t want you to worry about this whole thing, okay?” Isco said. “I mean…what people say. I know this is super rich coming from me. But I just. I don’t want something so lame to get between us because I like you, Vazquez, I like you _a lot_ and there’s no way _anything_ they say is going to change my mind.”

Franco smiled. He wished he could be as confident as Isco. He wished he wasn’t so insecure. “They’re not going to change my mind, either,” Franco whispered, just one word playing in his mind over and over again. Just one word.

 _Forever_.

He hoped it was the same thing Isco wanted.

They fell asleep that night with their noses pressed together, and Franco realised that no matter what became of him and Isco, those very moments right before he fell asleep were the moments he was going to carry with him for eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cute names to call your OTP:  
> \- Franny Major and Franny Minor


	21. Hold Me In This Wild, Wild World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Warmth by Bastille.

The Club World Cup final in Japan was so early that Franco was able to keep up with it before his own league match at primetime. He was even able to watch Isco come on in the 81st minute and play during extra time. He got a little fuzzy inside and blushy and really, _really_ smiley, so he turned it off after the first half of extra time and started getting ready.

He couldn’t help but turn it back on again to see the trophy ceremony, just to catch little glimpses of his tiny boyfriend. _Congrats,_ he texted Isco, followed by a string of rainbow hearts that he knew Isco would appreciate.

 _Thanks baby,_ was the reply Franco received a couple of hours later, as he settled in his seat at the Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán – Franco was suspended for the match, but was there to watch. It was followed by a barrage of emojis of all sorts.

It was a rather straightforward win against Málaga, and Franco saw Isco’s Instagram post with the trophy during half-time of the Sevilla match. His hair had already grown out but for some reason Isco hadn’t fluffed it up and it lay flat on his head, making him look really old.

Franco liked the photo. He opened the text message window and saw that Isco had sent him a similar photo, just that in this one he was kissing the trophy. _Wish I was kissing you,_ was the accompanying caption. Fuck, it made Franco cringe.

 _Gross_ , he sent, not expecting a reply because it was probably like, in the middle of the night in Japan and Franco was too lazy to calculate the timezones anyway. _Also, you look fifty._

Indeed, Franco only received a reply the next morning. At like, five in the morning Spanish time, but Franco saw it when he woke up at a more decent time. _You’re mean,_ it said. _Also, you’re old_.

Franco laughed. God, he missed teasing Isco all day, non-stop. _You know I’ll still like you even if you look fifty._

 _Fuck you, Vazquez, stop flirting with me_.

_What are you doing right now?_

_We’re on the plane waiting for takeoff._

_You sure you don’t want me to meet you in Madrid?_ Franco asked. They were supposed to meet in Palermo with Franco’s family; Isco was going to get a flight over from Madrid on his own. Franco had initially planned to fly the most direct way, which meant he would stop in Barcelona; if he transited in Madrid, he had to make a stop in Rome, like he used to when he was flying to Madrid to meet Isco, because the direct flights from Madrid to Palermo hadn’t been launched yet. He’d explained it to Isco and Isco had told him to fly via Barcelona.

_It’s a roundabout way for you. Let’s just meet in Palermo._

_I don’t mind._

_You gotta make two stops._

_I don’t mind, Alarcon. I just want to see you._

_El Mudo wants to see me :)_

_Shut the fuck up. I’m going to take the train to Madrid._

_I won’t be there for a long time, though. Sleep at my place._

_Okay,_ Franco sent. After a long hesitation, he sent a purple heart.

Isco was evidently very happy with that. _Nighty :)_ he sent, even though Franco bet it was like, four in the afternoon or whatever. Indeed, the clock app on his phone read 4.45pm in Tokyo. Isco was probably just going to conk out on the plane like he always did. God, that guy had no sense of order.

Franco caught the next train to Madrid, found the spare key that he had told Isco _a billion times_ not to hide under his stupid turtle figurine in the backyard but which Isco still did anyway, and got into Isco’s house. The housesitter had been by to clean up a little and feed Bubu since Isco was away so often. Bubu ran right up to Franco and sniffed at his feet when Franco entered. He appeared a tiny bit disappointed when he realised it wasn’t Isco, but after the slightest hesitation he got on his hind legs and clawed at Franco’s knees.

“Hello,” Franco said, putting his bag on the floor and picking Bubu up. “How are you?”

He felt silly after asking that because all Bubu did was stare at him and give his chin a lick. Franco took him to the couch and sat down and just. Just talked to him for a while, even though he couldn’t answer. He told Bubu about the week he’d had. About the week Isco’d had, from what Franco had heard from him. He told Bubu about how much he missed Isco and how glad he was to finally be there because he could just feel Isco’s presence all around him, he could live like Isco was. This place felt more like home than Franco’s own apartment did.

Franco didn’t usually talk this much. But it wasn’t like Bubu could judge him for it, so Franco was like whatever. Bubu didn’t even get bored. He just curled up next to Franco and listened.

When evening came Franco brought Bubu out for a walk and got himself some dinner. He checked his phone all the time but there was no text from Isco. He was probably still on his long-ass flight or in transit wherever, poor thing.

So Franco texted him, _I miss you._

He didn’t even think. Just sent it.

Then he took a long, warm shower and crawled into bed. He fell asleep on Isco’s side.

\------

Franco woke up in the middle of the night to something warm fidgeting against his back.

He swatted it aside gently, thinking it was Bubu.

It wasn’t.

It was Isco, decked fully in his outside clothes, a white t-shirt and black jeans, and lying on top of the sheets curled up against Franco’s back.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly when Franco caught him.

“What are you doing?” Franco asked.

“I can’t sleep. It’s morning in Japan.”

Franco narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re dirty.”

“I’m not lying under the sheets,” Isco pointed out. He looked a little sad when Franco didn’t say anything. He sat up and sighed. “Fine, I’ll go take a shower.”

“No, hey,” Franco called. He reached out and grabbed isco’s wrist, pulling him back into bed. Franco wasn’t even sleepy anymore. Just the sight of Isco made him so happy and awake. “Come here and let me hug you.”

So Isco obliged with a smile, and Franco just. Just wrapped him up tightly and hugged him close, a little irked that Isco hadn’t showered but also not really caring. He planted little kisses all over Isco’s face, making him giggle and squish his face up adorably.

“Missed you,” Isco whispered.

“Missed you, too,” Franco murmured. He pecked Isco on the lips and took a deep breath, just. Just taking all of Isco in again. “You smell Japanese.”

Isco burst into laughter. “That’s racist.”

“I don’t even know how Japanese smells like.”

“Stop talking about how Japanese smells like. It doesn’t smell like anything.”

“I’m not racist.”

“I know. I smell like plane.”

“You just reached home?”

“About an hour ago, yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know, maybe past four in the morning?”

Franco sighed. “You sleepy? You wanna go shower, or?”

Isco shook his head and beamed proudly at Franco when Franco narrowed his eyes again. “I’m lazy,” he said.

So Franco wrapped the sheets around Isco so only his big head was sticking out of it. “Bean burrito,” he said.

Isco laughed. He wriggled around but couldn’t get out of the sheets. “But you’ll be cold.”

So Franco wrapped his arms and legs around Isco, deciding that this would be warm enough for him. Isco giggled again and Franco was just so fucking fond, he wanted to hold on to Isco and never let go, ever. “Your dumb plan of sleeping on the plane didn’t work,” he pointed out.

“I know, I was too lazy to work out the timezones,” Isco sighed, and Franco felt it as a small blast of air on his face. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

But Franco didn’t mind. He felt like he had never been this happy in his entire life. He didn’t really get it, because it wasn’t the first time he’d been reunited with Isco after a long separation. And this separation wasn’t even that long. It was just a little over one week.

Whatever it was, Franco just. Just suddenly felt _complete_ again.

They spent the rest of the time before they fell asleep just talking randomly about space, and Franco had never had a better night in his life.

\------

Isco had been feeling relatively okay when they were on the way to Rome and then Palermo, but when they landed in Palermo he was suddenly really nervous.

“They’re not waiting at arrivals, are they?” he whispered anxiously to Franco as they collected their luggage.

“No, ‘course not,” Franco laughed. “I’ve left them too many times for them to still be sentimental about it.”

“Okay. Okay, great,” Isco sighed. “Shit, I have to go to the restroom.”

“You literally just went.”

“No, I need to, like, freshen up.”

“You look fine, Alarcon. In all senses of the word.”

“I don’t want your parents to hate me.”

“They’re not going to hate you,” Franco stopped in his tracks and turned to Isco, grabbing his shoulders. “They’re going to _love_ you.”

“Yeah?” Isco managed a smile, but. “Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t have worn ripped jeans. They’re going to think I’m some sort of gangster.”

Franco opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. He looked exasperated, like he had a ton to say but didn’t know where to start. He narrowed his eyes at Isco. His mouth opened again, but shut when Isco pouted desperately at him.

Then he said, slowly, “I’m wearing ripped jeans, too.”

Isco glanced downwards at Franco’s knees and couldn’t help but burst into laughter when he saw the holes in Franco’s jeans that he hadn’t noticed earlier. Franco started laughing too, soft and relieved, as Isco dropped his bag and Bubu’s carrier and collapsed into Franco’s chest in a hug.

“I’ve never been this nervous in my life,” Isco whispered as Franco’s arms wrapped themselves tightly around him. He was never this nervous when he met the parents of his longer-lasting exes. Not when he met Sonia’s parents to tell them she was pregnant. Not even when he was sitting in the hospital waiting for Junior to be born.

It didn’t seem to make any sense, even to Isco, but this appeared to be a bigger deal than all of those. He’d met the guy he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and now he was going to meet his parents.

“You have no reason to be,” Franco smiled, his lips brushing against Isco’s ear.

“I wanna ask if they were like this to your exes but I realise that’s a super dumb question.”

Franco laughed again. “Well, I had dates when I was a teen and they were always okay with it.”

“But those weren’t relationships.”

“No.”

“Do they show it when they hate someone?”

“No, but they’ll tell me. In private.”

“Will you tell me if they do?”

“They’ll love you, Alarcon.”

“But if they don’t?”

Franco sighed. He pulled away from the hug and ran his fingers gently down Isco’s cheeks. “I promise I’ll tell you.”

Isco smiled. “Do I look okay?” he asked.

“You look wonderful.”

“Like a good boy?”

Franco burst into adorable giggles. _Franco_ was _giggling_. “Like a good boy.”

“And my hair?”

“Your hair looks great.”

“It better be. I didn’t leave all my caps at home for nothing.”

Franco reached into his bag and took out a cap. “I brought one of mine for you just in case.”

Isco took it, but then returned it to Franco because if he had it, he would almost certainly put it on his head within the next five minutes. Franco put it back into his bag with another laugh.

“It’s still fluffy?” Isco asked.

“Very fluffy,” Franco said. Franco loved it when Isco’s hair was fluffy. He didn’t really say it, but he constantly tried to fluff Isco’s hair up and Isco couldn’t say he wasn’t already an expert at reading Franco’s thoughts. “So fluffy I want to run my hands in it all day.”

“Stop flirting with me in public in broad daylight,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder before taking his bag and Bubu’s carrier and walking ahead of Franco. A laughing Franco. Franco couldn’t stop laughing and Isco loved it so fucking much.

They hailed a cab and got to Franco’s house – a two-story bungalow that had large windows and a balcony with seating for the entire family. He’d bought it when he was playing for Palermo, since his family was going to spend time in Italy, anyway, being half-Italian. It was no surprise that it was painted wholly white on the outside and it was sparkling clean everywhere Isco looked. It was just. Just a very Franco thing.

“Wait,” Isco said as they stood at the front door. “Do I look okay? Am I missing anything?”

Franco smiled. He turned to Isco and examined him, seriously and not just so Isco would be appeased. “A little height over here,” he said, his hand hovering a few inches over Isco’s head. “And also this,” he continued, leaning over and pressing a soft, lingering kiss on Isco’s lips.

Then he took Isco’s hand and opened the door, and good fucking _God_ , Isco was so fucking _smitten_ he felt like he could just melt on the floor right there and then because he fucking _loved Franco_ and it was both the most amazing and most intimidating feeling in the entire universe.

“Just be yourself,” Franco said, pulling Isco inside and looking around for his parents. “And don’t forget that on the day I met your parents I was so tired I fell asleep while they were still there.”

Isco laughed. He gave Franco’s hand a squeeze in agreement.

They ran into Nicolas, who was on the way out of the kitchen with Fausto hot on his heels. The huge bag of potato chips in Nicolas’ hands explained everything.

“I can’t believe I had to hear this from Fede,” was how he greeted Franco. “Rude.”

Franco seemed unfazed. “Did he tell you before or after I told mom and dad?”

“Before.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Franco retorted, like he already knew Federico had a big mouth and would go and tell his brother even though Franco already told him not to. But to be fair, it wasn’t as if Franco’s brothers weren’t trustworthy.

Nicolas ignored him. “Hey,” he said to Isco. “Nice to meet you again.”

“You, too,” Isco smiled. For some reason, he felt like he was undergoing some kind of examination.

“You know, we both knew Franco would end up with you, but he hated us talking about it and he kept blushing and rolling his eyes so much I’m surprised they’re still attached to his face.”

“Yeah?” Isco asked, laughing. He turned to Franco. “Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Franco said shyly.

“I’m not going to shut up,” Nicolas said, gesturing at the both of them. “This is cute. You should try to be cute sometimes.”

Franco ignored him. He suddenly reached downwards and grabbed Fausto, causing him to squeal and then burst into giggles. “Hi, you little gnome.”

“Help daddy dig out all your uncle’s secrets,” Nicolas remarked before walking back to the living room. “Mom and dad are in here,” he told Franco.

Franco planted little kisses all over Fausto’s tiny face, and Isco just. Isco _loved_ seeing Franco interact with children. He just. He saw it in his future. Franco with Junior. Franco with a kid that he adopted or had with a surrogate. Franco in his life.

“Remember Isco?” Franco asked, pointing towards Isco and smiling when Fausto’s gaze followed his finger. “Hmm?”

Fausto nodded and grinned at Isco with all his little baby teeth showing. “Isco,” he said, complete with his baby lisp.

Isco laughed. He reached out to take Fausto when Fausto opened his arms towards him. “Hey,” he said, hugging Fausto close. “I’m so happy you remember me.”

“You take me walking,” Fausto said. Which, well, wasn’t false. They’d gone on that long walk in Seville the last time Isco and Fausto had met.

“Yeah,” Isco said softly. “We can go walking again if you like.”

Fausto nodded, and Isco looked over Fausto’s shoulder to see Franco just gazing lovingly at them. Isco raised his eyebrows, and Franco said, “He’s almost as big as you.”

“Fuck you,” Isco mouthed so Fausto wouldn’t hear.

Franco’s smile grew. He reached out for Isco’s free hand and took him to the living room. He gave it a squeeze before they stepped into his parents’ view.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” Isco said, earning himself a quick peck on the lips.

Franco’s parents stood up when Isco and Franco entered the room. They had these big, welcoming smiles on their faces and they greeted them with happy hellos. Franco just stood there, holding on to Isco’s hand for moral support, smiling proudly at the exchange. Fausto just lay draped over Isco’s shoulder peacefully.

“Hey,” Isco said, trying to shake their hands behind Fausto’s back. “Hi. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Franco’s mom said. “You can put Fausto down, he’s just been having a little clingy phase lately.”

So Isco tried, but Fausto started fussing, so Isco just sat down with Fausto in his lap. “It’s okay.”

Franco’s parents sat down, and then just. Just sat there across from Isco and Franco, staring happily at them, gaze flitting from Isco to Franco and then back to Isco, their smiles growing bigger each time. Isco just smiled back at them, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do. He turned to Franco for some help, but. But Franco was just doing the same thing his parents were doing. He was just staring at Isco. Jesus, was the whole family like that?

Fortunately, Nicolas saved the day by suddenly appearing and whispering, “C’mon, daddy will give you some chips,” into Fausto’s ear and releasing Fausto’s death grip on Isco.

“We’re so happy to finally get to talk to you,” Franco’s dad said. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Mostly from Fede, because this one here has his mouth glued shut,” Franco’s mom added.

“I talk to you about stuff,” Franco said. He was ignored by everybody.

“So how did you two meet?” Franco’s mom asked. “At Paulo’s press conference?”

“We’ve kinda, uh,” Isco started. “We’ve met a few times before that. But we didn’t really get to talk until this year.”

“Oh, you guys met at that camp in Spain?”

“Yeah,” Isco said. “He’s, uh. I mean. I’ve known Franco for a really long time because he’s, like, sort of in…my friend circle.”

“Your _friend circle_ ,” Franco snorted. But kindly. “He’s a close friend of Paulo’s boyfriend,” he told his parents.

“Did you bring your son?” Franco’s mom asked, suddenly looking worried at the possibility of a child just being left alone. She didn’t seem bothered, though, that Isco already had a child. In fact, Isco realised that not one member of Franco’s family had been bothered about Junior. It was just like. Like they’d accepted it.

“He’s in Málaga with my family. I’m going over for Christmas,” Isco said. “I, uh, I brought my dog, though,” he offered.

Franco burst into loud laughter and Isco realised that it _did_ sound a little silly. He gave Franco’s hand a tiny smack, though, and Franco shut up.

They continued talking about all the possible random things they could talk about, and Federico and Nicolas were nowhere to be seen although Fausto was sprinting around the house like his life depended on it. Isco was enlightened about an hour later when Federico finally appeared to say hi and announce that dinner was almost ready.

“Shit,” Isco said lowly as Franco’s parents were distracted by Federico. “Maybe I should’ve helped with the cooking.”

“No,” was all Franco said.

“But I just sat here. While your brothers cooked.”

“Our entire family loves cooking,” Franco said softly. He let go of Isco’s hand and hooked his arm in Isco’s instead. “Hey, look. Don’t worry about anything, okay?”

“Do you think it’s going fine?”

“It is, baby,” Franco whispered, softly kissing Isco’s temple. “What’s up with you? Why are you so nervous?”

“You called me baby,” Isco smiled. He felt all warm and fuzzy inside. Franco wasn’t an affectionate person; sure he was when it came to sex, but Franco wasn’t affectionate with words.

“Shut up,” Franco said, a smile creeping over his face along with a slight pink blush. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just,” Isco shrugged. “This means a lot to me. It means the whole world to me. Meeting your parents. You have no idea, Franco, you have no idea how much this means to me. And I don’t want to screw it up. That’s all.”

Franco gently grasped the back of Isco’s head and pushed Isco’s face into his shoulder. “This means a whole lot to me, too,” he whispered. “And I’m so glad it’s working out. Alarcon, I’m so glad you’re here and that…that this means as much to you as it does to me. And just…just don’t worry, okay? I swear, everything’s fine.”

Isco smiled. “I love you,” he mouthed into Franco’s shirt.

“Hmm?” Franco asked.

 _Fuck_ , Isco thought. He took a long, deep breath before removing himself from Franco’s shoulder. “You, uh,” he cleared his throat. “Wanna show me around?”

Franco took Isco’s hand and waited for him to let Bubu out of his carrier, and Bubu just followed obediently at Isco’s feet as Franco brought him around the ground floor. He bounded up the stairs way too quickly, though, and felt guilty so he ran back down and walked up together with Isco.

Honestly, Isco was watching Franco more than he was watching where Franco was pointing. Lego sculptures of various sizes littered all the possible display surfaces, anyway, so it wasn’t like Isco was missing out on anything big. Franco was just speaking so softly but eagerly, like he really, _really_ wanted Isco to take a look at every tiny bit of his life, even his past here in Palermo. Isco would’ve felt a little guilty that he was paying more attention to Franco than to the house, but. But he just couldn’t help it. When he’d first met Franco, he never would’ve thought – not even the _tiniest_ fraction of Isco would’ve thought – that Franco would be willing to open up to him this much. They had just. Just come _so fucking far_.

“Are you paying attention to me?” Franco asked, shoving Isco gently in the shoulder.

“Not really,” Isco confessed, giggling. He grabbed Franco’s hand, though, and dragged him to one of the doors. He opened it and pulled Franco inside. “I heard you say this is your room,” he whispered, closing the door on Bubu and shoving Franco gently up against it.

“You’re right,” Franco whispered back before his lips landed on Isco’s. He pushed Isco backwards until the back of Isco’s knees hit the bed, and then he pushed Isco’s shoulders so Isco sat on the edge of the bed. One last greedy, open-mouthed, wet kiss later and Franco pulled away to sit down next to Isco. “My boyfriend’s so smart.”

“I know,” Isco said proudly. He moved closer to Franco for another kiss and got it, and then they spent the next fifteen minutes or so just sitting on Franco’s bed and making out, and _God,_ Isco could never stop kissing Franco; he never wanted to and he was never going to and no one could ever tell him to.

That bubble was very abruptly burst when there was a single loud knock on the door, causing Isco and Franco to jump apart. “Dinner in ten minutes,” Federico said through the closed door. “Stop making out or – or whatever the fuck you’re doing in there, your poor dog misses you.”

“Okay,” Franco yelled as Isco laughed.

“I don’t wanna stop making out,” Isco said, partly hating how fucking mushy he was being but partly not giving a fuck. He keened upwards to reach Franco’s lips. “We have ten minutes to make out.”

So they spent the next ten minutes just doing that. Just making out. Isco was just so fucking relieved to be done with the first half of this trip and he just needed some way to release all his anxiety. They both ended up lying down sideway across the bed, desperately scrambling to get their hands on each other. Breaths hot and heavy as they intermingled, soft little moans of pleasure combining as fingers found their way under clothes. Isco would have just stripped Franco of all his clothes and grind off on him again if they hadn’t only had like, three minutes left.

And also if Federico hadn’t appeared at the door again with another loud knock, this time saying nothing.

Franco sighed, making Isco heave with him from his position half-draped over Franco. He wrapped an arm over Isco’s head and squeezed tight, and Isco couldn’t breathe but he didn’t know if it was because he’d just spent half an hour making out with the love of his life or because Franco was suffocating him. Whatever it was, Isco liked it.

“Fuck,” Franco finally said, still breathless.

“Maybe we shouldn’t keep your family waiting.”

“Hmm,” was all Franco said in response. He sat up and pulled Isco with him. He quietly gave Isco one last kiss and a tight hug, and then stood up and went to the door.

Isco just sat on the bed, still thoroughly shaken. He stared at Franco’s shadow retreating down the hallway.

“I love you,” he whispered to no one. Maybe if he couldn’t say it out loud to Franco, he could at least say it to himself. Maybe then it wouldn’t tear him apart from the inside.

He jumped when Bubu suddenly appeared around the doorframe, floating in the air, Franco’s large hands around his body holding up his tiny paws. His tongue fell out of his mouth when he saw Isco.

“Let’s go downstairs papa,” Franco said in this _ridiculous_ high-pitched voice, wiggling Bubu’s paws.

Isco burst into laughter. He got up and hurried after Franco as he escaped downstairs with Bubu. “Is that how you think dogs sound like?” Isco called.

“I don’t know,” Franco called back.

Isco got some food for Bubu before joining Franco’s family at the table. He slotted in between Franco and Federico, which honestly wasn’t so bad. The family immediately launched into some random topic that they knew Isco could catch up on – evidently having put some thought into it, because they tried to include Isco in the conversation by asking him how he felt. It was overall just so. So warm and welcoming and comforting, like they somehow knew how nervous Isco was and how big this was to him, even though neither he nor Franco had said anything.

Everyone eventually ended up just teasing each other, including their parents. Isco couldn’t help but join in, especially when it came to teasing Franco. He just loved seeing the adamant look on Franco’s face, the open-mouthed _I can’t believe my boyfriend would accuse me of this_ expression, and the laugh that followed. Isco just felt like he fit in here so well. Like this was his own family. It wasn’t that Isco’s family wasn’t this awesome, but just. Now he had _two_ awesome families to be with.

They showered together after dinner, because Franco’s room had the ensuite and they wouldn’t get caught in any awkward leaving-the-bathroom-with-my-boyfriend-in-tow moments. Franco left for a while to talk to his parents and bid them good night. He returned to bed with a sigh.

“So…you used to fuck Paulo in this bed?” Isco asked. Because that question had been burning a hole in his mind.

Franco narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I guess?”

“And all your other men?”

Franco shrugged. He fidgeted around a little so his head lay comfortably on the pillow. “Why?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering,” Isco said. He _was_ just wondering. It seemed surreal being here. Like he was stepping into Franco’s past.

A long, long silence.

“Are you mad at me?” Isco whispered. He realised that he’d probably stepped over a line. It was just like him to only realise that _after_ he’d said it.

Franco shook his head. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards a little.

“Really?” Isco asked.

“Yeah, I mean,” Franco shrugged again. “It’s part of my past. I can’t say it’s not true.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked so much.”

Franco shook his head. “I like it when you ask me questions.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you found it annoying.”

“I used to, when I first knew you,” Franco chuckled. “Now I find it endearing.”

“So I can ask all the questions I want?”

“Ask all the questions you want.”

But Isco didn’t want to ask any questions. He just wanted to tell Franco he loved Franco.

Another silence, this time short.

“You had a good time today?” Franco asked, less like a formality and more like he was waiting for Isco to just vomit out all his thoughts.

Isco nodded and smiled. “Your family’s great.”

“I talked to mom and dad just now.”

Isco froze. Maybe this was it. Maybe they’d told Franco they hated Isco.

“Yeah?” Isco managed to squeak.

“They love you,” Franco smiled, running his thumb along Isco’s hairline. “They love you to tiny, tiny bits. I even asked them if there’s one thing about you they don’t like. And they said no.”

“Really?” Isco whispered. “Really? Not even…not even Junior?”

“Not even Junior.”

“Really?” Isco asked again.

“Everyone’s more okay with Junior than you think they are, Alarcon,” Franco said softly. “You’ve got to stop thinking that having a child is a bad thing.”

“It’s just,” Isco shrugged. “It’s irresponsible. People say that.”

“It’s not the act that matters. It’s what you do after it. And you took responsibility.”

Isco pushed his face into Franco’s chest and listened to Franco’s heartbeat. It always soothed him to do that.

“When are you going to Málaga?” Franco whispered.

“The day after tomorrow,” Isco said. He was going to spend Christmas with his family. Away from Franco. He dreaded to think about it. This was their first Christmas and Isco wanted to spend it with Franco, but he couldn’t possibly ask Franco to leave his family.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Franco asked, anyway.

“Stay with your family.”

“I can go with you.”

“Stay with your family,” Isco said again. “I know how much they mean to you.”

“Or we could just fly my family over to Málaga.”

“Don’t do that,” Isco said softly. “Franco. Just stay here. I mean, I really want to spend Christmas with you, but…yeah.”

“Will you be sad?”

“I’ll try not to be,” Isco smiled.

Franco went quiet for a while, just lost in thought. His hands fidgeted with the hair at the nape of Isco’s neck, and it was actually quite soothing. But he didn’t say anything, and Isco just let him be. He was probably just being deep again. Isco was pretty sure he was going to start spouting some wisdom in a couple of minutes.

Surely enough, Franco said, softly, “You know, if you think of it. Like, if you aren’t religious and just celebrate Christmas as a holiday. Then it’s just a day. Right? It’s just one day out of three hundred and sixty five.”

“Mmhmm,” Isco murmured.

“So any day can be Christmas for us. Christmas can be on the fucking seventeenth of June or whatever. Or tomorrow. Tomorrow, the 22nd of December, is declared Christmas by me.”

“Yeah?” Isco chuckled. He pulled away and rested his head on the pillow again. “So we can spend Christmas together?”

“You fucking bet we can.”

“It’s nice, too. Because it’s the 22nd.”

Franco smiled. “Yeah.”

“What should we do for Christmas?”

“What do you wanna do?”

“Hmm,” Isco gave that a thought. He put his hand on Franco’s cheek and traced a line with each finger as he listed out everything he wanted to do. “I want you to take me out to see all the places you used to go when you lived here. Then I want to have a nice, quiet meal with you where we sit by the window and make up stories about the people who walk past. I want you to bring me to the coast and we can spend the rest of the day looking at the sea and you can tell me everything about how big the world is, how big the universe is. And then at night, the stars will come up above us and remind us of that, and you can tell me stories about how in another universe, Christmas really is on the 22nd of December.”

Franco’s smile just kept growing as Isco said all that, and eventually it was so big it almost split his face in two. He licked his dry lips and pressed them on Isco’s. “Okay,” he whispered.

“It’s a date,” Isco said.

“Mmhmm. It’s a date.”

They fell asleep with matching smiles on their faces.

\------

The next day, Franco brought Isco to all the places he used to go when he played for Palermo.

The Palermo training ground, even though they couldn’t get inside. Outside the Renzo Barbera stadium. The diner Franco frequented, which reminded Isco a lot of the one in Madrid. He brought Isco through the maze of side alleys that Franco used to walk through when he was feeling upset, when he felt like he needed to be alone and take a long walk. He brought Isco to the street of his favourite gay bar, and they just stood across the road from it and Isco spent fifteen whole minutes watching the entrance even though it was in the middle of the day and no one was going in or out.

And Franco felt nostalgia hit him over and over again. Especially standing outside that bar. It just took Franco all the way back, and Franco missed Italy. He missed being in Palermo because honestly, he had been doing well here, and to say he was doing equally well in Seville wouldn’t exactly be the truth. He could feel himself slipping down the pecking order. He wasn’t living up to his price tag. The articles weren’t wrong.

Sure, it was a step forward for Franco. But Franco was beginning to think if a step forward was equivalent to a step in the right direction.

Isco gave his hand a squeeze, jolting him out of his daydream.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Franco said.

“Just thinking?”

“Yeah.”

Isco grabbed Franco’s forearm with his other hand and leaned into Franco’s shoulder. “Which way next?” he asked.

Franco was just. Just so happy. He was so happy that Isco was willing to waste an entire day learning about Franco. Learning about what Franco was like, what he used to do, where he used to go. Franco was suddenly so. So overwhelmed. He turned to Isco and his vision was blurry, which meant he was about to fucking cry or something, and fuck, they were literally outside a gay bar and there was no worse place to cry.

He grabbed Isco’s hand tightly with his free hand and just held on, and Isco was saying something but Franco couldn’t hear nor understand. He just wrapped his arms around Isco and hugged him tight, and he felt himself relax when Isco hugged him back, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“You okay?” he asked again in a whisper, and it was right into Franco’s ear so Isco must’ve been tiptoeing or something, and God, Franco loved him. “Let’s go somewhere and sit down.”

So Franco brought him to the café around the corner, the café he used to have dinner at before, well. Before heading to the bar. Isco almost got into a fight with the waiter about getting the window seat, of which there was one left, empty but not yet cleared. Franco tried telling him to chill but he had no energy.

They finally got the seat and Franco just sat there watching Isco peer at the menu curiously, occasionally asking Franco to translate things to Spanish for him. He eventually settled for pasta again, and Franco ordered fish.

Isco reached across the table and took Franco’s hand, playing with his fingers for a while before intertwining them with his own. “Franco, you okay?”

Franco nodded. He was feeling a lot better. It was just. Just a random freak out. “Yeah, I was just. Thinking about stuff.”

“You don’t have to take me to places with bad memories.”

“I don’t have bad memories at the bar,” Franco said. “I had the best memories. You know, sexually.”

Isco laughed. “Yeah. But just, yeah.”

“I can take you to the coast after lunch,” Franco offered.

Isco nodded, and they had a relatively quiet lunch only interrupted by Isco moaning obscenely about how Sicilian pasta was the best in the world. It actually made Franco laugh a little. He eventually realised that had been Isco’s goal all along.

After finishing their food they got a cup of coffee each, and just sat and looked out the window and made up stories about random people and random things. Franco didn’t do much talking. He wasn’t really in the talking mood, more in the listening one. Isco, as usual, seemed to get that, so he just continued talking.

He painted vivid images of people’s lives. The people who walked past the café, individually or in groups. He described them down to the deepest detail, the level of detail Franco never would’ve thought of himself. He blurted everything in his brain, every single thing he was thinking. And they were all wonderful stories, so detailed and well-explained that Franco almost believed they were true. Isco just. He had such a wonderful mind. He was so creative and straightforward and he told stories with voice gentle but eager, a voice that made Franco want to listen forever. Franco wanted to just sit in Isco head, just sit there and feel Isco’s thoughts wash over him, every day.

They headed to the coast some distance away from the ferry piers, to an isolated beach – partly because it was winter, and partly because it was more gravelly than beachy. The sea breeze was blowing really hard as they got there, sharp, chilling blasts of air hitting their faces. But Isco seemed unfazed, just grabbed Franco’s hand tightly and wrapped Franco’s scarf more tightly around his neck.

There was a rickety, old and unused, wooden pier that barely hung out over the water anymore. Franco climbed on it and Isco followed him. They sat at the edge, feet hanging over the water. The view was just as stunning as Franco had remembered it; the bluest sea in front of them, framed by the faraway mountains on one side and the city on the other. It made Franco feel peaceful sitting there.

After a half-hour of complete silence except for the waves, Isco said, “This is nice.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. It was late afternoon and the sky was turning orange from the sun setting behind the city on their left.

“Mmhmm,” Isco murmured. “Thanks for taking me here.”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. He gave Isco’s hand a tight squeeze.

“Are you feeling okay?” Isco asked. “You’ve been…really quiet today.”

“Yeah, I just,” Franco shrugged. “I miss this place.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m happy I got to bring you around.”

“Yeah?” Isco turned and beamed at Franco. “I’m glad you did, too. Another slice of the Franco pizza.”

“The Franco pizza,” Franco laughed. “Is that because I’m half Italian? That’s racist.”

“It’s not because you’re Italian!” Isco exclaimed. “It’s like you have slices of the Isco pizza, too.”

“I have scoops of the Isco paella.”

“See, _that’s_ racist.”

“You started it.”

“I did _not_.”

Franco grabbed Isco and poked him in the sides until he was a giggly, incoherent mess, collapsing into Franco’s arms. He pressed his face into Franco’s shoulder and gave a little sigh. Then he murmured something Franco couldn’t make out.

“What?” Franco whispered.

Isco shook his head. He cleared his throat. “Uh,” he said a little more loudly. “Just. Just that this is really nice.”

“Yeah,” Franco said. The sky was rapidly turning navy blue and their surroundings were becoming dark. But Franco didn’t want to go back so quickly. And Isco didn’t make any move to go home, so it was all good.

They pulled apart after a while and sat looking out at the sea again. The waves were beginning to lap higher up the shore but the pier was a safe distance above ground so Isco and Franco remained dry. The sound of the water relaxed Franco. So did Isco’s presence right next to him.

“Tell me a story about the universe,” Isco finally said.

He lay on his back on the pier and gazed up at Franco with his bright eyes as Franco started telling him about how stars were formed. Franco turned sideways so he could look at Isco while he was talking, because Isco was. Isco was the most incredible formation the universe had come up with.

Isco reached up to grab his hand and got the hood of his own coat all messed up, so Franco helped him put it back on. The dark material framing Isco’s eager face made it stand out more, made it so fucking beautiful. His hair was a little messy and falling over one side of his forehead. He smiled when Franco moved to tuck it into his hood.

They spent all their time just sitting – and lying – there talking about the stars. There were a few above them, but not many because of the nearby city. Franco pointed them out and tried to name them. Isco just looked so fascinated at everything, like a curious child. Franco wished Isco’s curiosity never ran out.

Franco ended up lying down next to Isco, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. Looking up at the stars they could see. At the vast universe they would never get to touch.

“The world is so big,” Isco whispered.

“Yeah.”

“The universe is so big. Do you think there are other things, like…like, living out there? Not just humans, but…anything.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine that there isn’t. That everything out there is just vast, empty space that no one else is getting to enjoy.”

“It’s not just empty space. It’s full of stars.”

“But stars die.”

And Isco got all curious about that so Franco started telling him about how stars died. About how all stars were just. Just in the process of dying. Of wasting away, of using up all their fuel. All stars burned hot and bright but the hotter and brighter they were, the more short-lived they were.

“So they take a billion years to die,” Isco finally said after he’d digested everything.

“Not just a billion. A few billion, maybe. Or a few hundred billion.”

“And they become nothing.”

“Not all of them become nothing. Some of them become black holes. Or another kind of star.”

“And then that other star will also die.”

“Don’t be so morbid, Alarcon.”

“This is such a sad story. Tell me something nice.”

“Okay,” Franco said. He gave it a little thought. “We’re made of stardust.”

“We are?”

“Yeah,” Franco said. “When a star dies, everything it was made up of remains. And some of those remains form other new stars. Some of it clumps together and forms planets. But all of it, _all of it_ is there. The star isn’t gone when it dies. It becomes other things.”

“So we’re made up of the same things as stars.”

“We share the same atoms as the oldest stars in the universe.”

Isco turned to Franco and smiled. He put his far hand gently on Franco’s cheek. “Then you, Franco Damian Vazquez, you’re my favourite star.”

Franco laughed. He felt himself blush but he hoped Isco couldn’t feel it. “I thought I was your favourite galaxy.”

“You’re both,” Isco said. “And don’t tell me that’s not possible, because you know I don’t care.”

Franco moved to press his lips on Isco’s, softly. They turned upwards even further and Franco’s heart was just so warm. “You’re my favourite everything,” he whispered, and Isco keened upwards to reach him for another kiss, making him chuckle.

They lay there on the pier just making out for a while, under the dark blanket of the night sky, littered with random stars. Isco’s tiny hand was warm in Franco’s, warm all the way to his heart, all the way deep inside his heart in places of Franco he didn’t even know existed.

“You know,” Isco finally said as he pulled away and lay back down again. “I thought stars lived forever.”

“Billions and billions of years is nearly forever,” Franco pointed out.

“But it’s not, like, _forever_ forever, you know?”

“Yeah,” Franco said quietly.

“But then again, when I was a kid, I thought one day I could touch the sky, so what do I even know?”

Franco smiled. “Everyone thinks that.”

“I’m like, half disappointed and half in awe of not being able to touch the sky.”

Franco stayed quiet. He liked hearing Isco spout his thoughts like tea from a teapot.

“Stars die,” Isco sighed. “Who would’ve thought? It’s like. Stars are always there. I didn’t even know there were so many different stars and so many different galaxies. It just. Stars are _always there_. I always thought…that stars lived forever. I always say the word ‘forever.’ I don’t even know what forever means.”

“Why not?”

“Everything is just,” Isco shrugged. “Temporary.”

There it was again. That word. Temporary.

“What do you mean?” Franco whispered.

“Everything in my life,” Isco said. “Everything has been temporary. Everything, everyone, it’s all just come and gone like that. Nothing has just, like, stuck by me. You know? No one. Even Alvaro. Everyone lives their own lives and sometimes, no matter how hard you try to be in it, you just aren’t. And over time, you don’t even have a foot in it. It’s just, over all this time, I’ve just begun thinking that maybe…maybe there’s no such thing as forever. And now I know that even the stars don’t believe in Forever. _Stars_. They’re _immortal_ and they don’t believe in forever. How could _I_ , a mere mortal, believe that forever exists?”

“Your family’s forever,” Franco said. “And your son.”

 _And me_ , he wanted to add, but didn’t.

“Yeah, I want my family to be forever. My family means so much to me,” Isco said. He gave Franco’s hand a hard squeeze. “But what if…I don’t mean to be morbid, but. But my mom and dad will be gone one day.”

“It’s natural.”

“You know, that’s why Junior’s so important to me,” Isco said, and Franco heard a smile in his voice. “He’s the only semblance of forever that still exists for me.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. His heart had begun palpitating and it was the only thing he could feel. Maybe this was the sign he’d missed. Maybe this was Isco trying to tell him, finally and directly, that Franco was temporary. Franco had been waiting for Isco to say it to his face. And this was it.

“I mean, that’s why I live life the way I do. Why I do things the way I do. Because it doesn’t always last, and when I get to do it, I _have to_ do it. And I just feel like…I know I’m still young, but I feel that everything I’m doing is just in anticipation of something temporary. Everything I’m doing is just…preparing for something else to end. You know? It kinda…kinda makes me really tired sometimes. Just thinking about how everything’s just. Going to end.”

“Not everything’s going to end,” Franco whispered, hoping he didn’t sound desperate.

“I don’t know which ones are, though. It’s just…best to prepare for everything. Don’t you think? I mean, you’re the kind who prepares for everything.”

And Franco was. Franco was the kind who prepared for everything. It was just that Franco’s preparation for everything _included Isco in it_. Franco loved to plan ahead, he _needed_ to plan ahead, and right then his calendar had ‘Isco’ written on it in block letters on every day as far as Franco could imagine.

“So you don’t believe in forever?” Franco asked.

“I don’t think I do,” Isco said softly.

Franco said nothing. He shut his eyes, and he wasn’t sure if it was because the air was really dry, but he started to cry. He lay stock-still next to Isco and he started crying, trying not to shake so Isco wouldn’t realise. Trying not to shake even though he was tearing apart at the seams, even though he felt like he could no longer breathe. He was lucky it was so dark that Isco wouldn’t see Franco’s tears even if he looked directly at Franco.

Maybe Isco was right. Maybe Franco was naïve to believe in forever. _Nothing_ lasted forever. Franco was so stupid to believe in it. Even his favourite things, the stars, weren’t forever. Franco should have seen it way earlier.

“Maybe we all have our own forevers,” Isco finally said after a long, painful silence. “We make our own forevers. Forever is however long we want it to be. Forever is different for different things in our lives.”

Franco wanted to ask him, _what about our forever?_

But he didn’t dare to, so he just nodded silently.

He knew his own answer to that question, though. In his mind, in Franco’s mind, his forever with Isco was in the complete sense of the word.

His forever with Isco was infinite.


	22. Look At The Wonderful Mess That We Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> I'm leaving on my grad trip tomorrow night and returning on the 13th of May, so this will be the last chapter until then. The earliest the next chapter can be posted will be the 15th, but no guarantees because I haven't finished it and I don't think I'll have much time to write on my trip. But anyways, SORRY IN ADVANCE (or am I?) for leaving you at this point in the story after what happens in this chapter (did I do it on purpose? Guess). 
> 
> I will try my best to reply your comments/messages until then, but no matter what, do keep sending them in! I love love love to hear what you guys think :) I'm on [tumblr](incredybala.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/debushy) too! And meanwhile, maybe you'd like to check out the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/mandzilkos/playlist/1eyFXj6qVXAK1goeJguv5m) (I made some changes since the last time) if you're bored, let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you all so so much in advance for being so patient! I will see you soon :)
> 
> Title is from Flaws by Bastille.

When the clock struck midnight on Christmas morning, Isco’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans.

_Instagram: fdv2289 tagged you in a photo._

Isco opened it. It was a photo of Isco sitting on the pier at that Palermo beach on their self-proclaimed Christmas, looking out at the bright blue sea. The city of Palermo was in the far background, in the right half of the photo Isco wasn’t taking up. Isco was smiling brightly out at the sea, so brightly his eyes had almost disappeared. His right profile was facing the camera and his hood was half off his head, leaving a few strands of his hair blowing backwards with the sea breeze. He hadn’t even noticed that this photo was being taken.

The caption read, _The stars would be so proud to know their atoms created somebody like you,_ followed by a Christmas tree emoji, a Santa, and a yellow heart.

Isco smiled. He squirmed around in his seat, blushing, trying to break out of some invisible constraints. He wanted to hold Franco. And kiss Franco. And tell Franco he loved Franco. God, Isco felt so soft and squishy inside and it was all Franco’s fucking fault.

“Gross,” Antonio remarked from next to Isco.

Isco turned his phone towards Antonio and jabbed his finger at the photo. “He posted about me.”

Antonio took a look at the photo and read the caption. “Gross,” he repeated.

“Fuck off. You’re mean.”

Isco continued examining the screen, less the photo than the caption. It was just. It was a beautiful sentence. Isco double-tapped the photo and opened his text conversation with Franco.

 _Where’d you hear that caption?_ he asked.

 _I dunno, I saw it online somewhere,_ Franco replied. _Do you like it?_

_I love it._

_:)_

“You really like him, don’t you?” Antonio asked.

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He locked his phone and put it back in his pocket.

“How much?” Antonio asked. “Like, what level?”

“On a scale of?”

Antonio gave that a little thought. “Junior pooping on you to Junior telling you ‘papa I love you.’”

Isco burst into laughter. “That’s the weirdest scale ever.”

“Well, I just wanna know if you love him. Like, _love_.”

“So…” Isco shrugged. “So it’s Junior telling me ‘papa I love you.’”

“You _love_ him,” Antonio said, this big, open-mouthed smile on his face. “You love him? Like, _love_ love? Like, you wanna marry him and have his children, that kinda love?”

“Fuck you, I can’t have his children.”

“But you wish you could.”

“Fuck off.”

“You do!”

“I just,” Isco shrugged. “I don’t know if he wants that. I don’t want to scare him off. You know? Franco’s not…he’s not…very romantic. Or more like, he doesn’t put it into words. So I don’t know. I don’t know if he feels the same way, and I don’t want him to think that this is moving too quickly and get scared.”

“But has he, like,” Antonio gestured vaguely at the space in front of him. “Has he shown you in any other way?”

“Are you asking me about my sex life?”

“Fuck you, I’m fucking not,” Antonio rolled his eyes. “Like, the way he’s fucking acting, you fucking dirty creep.”

“Language, Antonio,” Isco’s dad called lazily from the next couch.

Antonio glared at him, and then at Isco. “Well?” he asked.

“I can’t tell,” Isco said. He really couldn’t. It was the same problem – he knew how Franco would act and he knew how Franco would think, but he didn’t know how Franco would feel.

“How does he act? When you tell him how you feel? When you’re happy, or when you’re sad?”

“He’s just the way he is. He hasn’t changed at all. He just…he gets really happy when I say mushy things, even though he pretends to be disgusted.”

“But he doesn’t say it back.”

“Not always,” Isco sighed. “But I’m not mad. I know he’s trying. I know it’s difficult for him sometimes.”

“Why is it difficult?”

“Franco is…Franco’s just…like that. I don’t know how to describe it to you.”

“Like, he’s emotionally cut off.”

“Kinda, yeah,” Isco shrugged. “Not emotionally, like all emotions. More like…like romantically cut off. Or, he used to be. Franco is…he’s so unique and his mind is so fucking beautiful, and every day I spend with him I learn something new about him and about the world, and I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone more than I like him.”

“You love. You _love_ him.”

Isco didn’t answer. He just sat there silently and grabbed some of the chips from the bowl between him and Antonio and stuffed it in his mouth. He felt like he was constantly torn between wanting to tell Franco and not wanting this to move as fast as it seemed to be.

They all retreated into their own rooms after the celebrations on TV ended. Isco went to his room quietly and stopped by Junior’s cot to tuck the blankets around him because he always messed them up when he slept. He gave Junior a little peck on the head and a little squeeze of the hand. Then he brushed his teeth and got into bed. He took out his phone and flirted with Franco for the next twenty minutes, which put a smile on his face. Franco never failed to put a smile on Isco’s face, honestly, no matter what they were doing.

Antonio appeared at Isco’s door, just edging it open slowly until Isco could see his face. Isco stared at him, wondering what he was doing there.

Antonio walked over to Isco’s bed and sat down on it. “Texting Franco?” he asked.

“Why?” Isco asked back. He felt. He felt defensive, for some reason.

“Just asking,” Antonio said. “And I, uh, wanna say sorry for how I acted just now. About your relationship. I mean, it’s your relationship and you guys just do it your way.”

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” Isco shrugged. He knew it was only because his brother cared.

“It’s just, looking at you,” Antonio gestured to Isco. “You’ve never fallen so hard. I’ve been here since your very first girlfriend. I’ve been here for Sonia, arguably the girl you were most smitten for. And I’ve never seen you like this. Never seen you fall so hard for someone like you have for Franco. This is way past Sonia level now. And Sonia had your _child,_ for fuck’s sake.

“You know Franco’s a great guy. He’s not going to hurt me.”

“It’s not that,” Antonio said. “I know he won’t hurt you. But don’t you want to know? You’re always itching to know things. How can you live not knowing if he’s looking in the same direction as you are? I’m not telling you how to run your relationship, I just. I just don’t want you to be hurt because of something that neither of you is at fault for.”

“I know what you mean,” Isco said softly. He would be lying if he’d said he hadn’t thought of it before. If he hadn’t thought of just blurting it out to Franco, those three words. “I don’t know if he loves me back.”

“The only way a relationship is going to work is if there’s clear communication.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Isco asked. “If I tell him I love him, and he doesn’t say it back?”

“Would you rather know that? Or would you rather sit here second guessing how he feels?”

Isco sighed. He shrugged. “I just keep…reeling it back. You know? I keep trying to keep it low key even though I love him so fucking much, Antonio, I love him so much I feel like my heart could explode. I keep trying to hold it back so I won’t scare him off by being too eager. I mean, just the other day when I was in Palermo I told him I didn’t believe in forever, that everything was temporary.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Isco sighed again. “It was part true. It was all true, everything was true except that I _do_ believe in one forever – _our_ forever. But I just…part of me just wanted him to know that we should take it slow. Really slow. As slow as he wants. Because that’s what I promised him. And I don’t think he’s ready to hear me say I love him yet. So if I say it…maybe I’ll end up being more hurt than I’d be if I’m keeping it to myself.”

Antonio just sat there quietly for a minute. He just stared at Isco, calculating and pondering in his head. Then he said, “Yeah, okay, now I get where you’re coming from.”

“Yeah. It’s not that I don’t want to say it. There’s just so many other things to take into account.”

Antonio smiled. “I hope you get to say it one day really soon.”

“Thanks,” Isco smiled back.

“Night, baby brother,” Antonio said, getting up and walking to the door. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Isco said softly as the door clicked shut.

He unlocked his phone again and sent one of those super huge read beating emoji hearts to Franco.

He received the same red heart from Franco almost immediately.

And that was enough for Isco. If he couldn’t yet tell Franco he loved Franco, at least he knew Franco was comfortable enough on the emoji heart level. And this was enough for Isco.

\------

Three days after Christmas, Isco and Franco had to go to the La Liga headquarters in Madrid for their video interview.

Franco flew from Palermo the day after Christmas. He arrived just before midnight and went straight to Isco’s place, where Isco was already waiting. Of course he was. It was no trouble at all going to Madrid from Málaga.

“Isn’t it a little unfair that _I_ have to come to _Madrid_?” Franco complained.

“Well, if the HQ moves to Seville then we’ll talk.”

“It should be somewhere neutral like, I don’t know, Barcelona.”

“How the fuck is Barcelona neutral?” Isco argued. “Madrid is the fucking capital, Vazquez.”

Then Franco kissed him to make him shut up. It worked.

“Where’s Junior?” Franco asked once Isco was willing to let him go.

“Asleep,” Isco said. He wandered off to brush his teeth so Franco popped into Junior’s room to see him. Junior wasn’t awake to scream ‘Vazquez’ at him, but he was asleep peacefully drooling on his blanket and that was enough for Franco. He gave Junior a little kiss on the head and wiped off as much drool as he could.

He took a long, warm shower to get rid of the airplane smell, expecting Isco to already be asleep when he got out. But Isco was just lying in bed, fully horizontal except for his head which was propped up almost ninety degrees to his body, against the headboard. He smiled sleepily at Franco when Franco emerged from the bathroom.

“Don’t lie like that,” Franco said, going over and grabbing Isco’s ankles. He pulled them hard so Isco slid down and lay on his pillow instead. “It hurts your neck.”

Isco gave a small laugh, and his t-shirt had ridden up his abdomen, making him look like a hunchback. He pulled it back down sheepishly before making grabby hands at Franco. “C’mere.”

Franco crawled under the sheets and rested his cheek on Isco’s chest. He heard and felt Isco’s laugh as a low vibration, right from Isco’s heart. He nuzzled his face into Isco’s shirt. “Night,” he whispered.

“Night, Franny,” Isco said softly. He pressed a kiss to Franco’s hair.

Franco closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately, being exhausted from travelling. His last thought was that he was going to cherish all of these little moments, because if their forever was going to be short, then Franco didn’t know when the end would come. It irked Franco that for all the planning he did, he couldn’t plan for the ending that mattered the most in his entire life.

So he was going to cling to Isco, he was going to cling the fuck out of Isco until the day he had to let go.

\------

Franco slept in the next morning and woke up to find Isco already awake and washed-up, sitting beside Franco with Junior in his lap staring attentively at a video playing on the laptop. Isco was alternating between watching the video and watching Junior. He had this really loving and proud smile on his face, and his hands were on Junior’s waist, his fingers being fidgeted with by Junior’s tinier ones.

He didn’t notice Franco had awoken for like, an entire fifteen minutes. It was the best fifteen minutes of Franco’s life. Watching Isco while Isco had no idea he was being watched.

Isco finally turned to check on Franco after that fifteen minutes, his smile growing when he saw Franco awake. He pushed his palm into Franco’s face despite it not even being able to cover Franco’s entire face. He gave a loud yelp when Franco stuck out his tongue and it tickled Isco’s palm.

“Gross!” he exclaimed, wiping his hand on his shirt as Franco burst into laughter.

“Vazzzzquezzzzzzzz!” Junior exclaimed loudly when he saw that Franco had awoken, his spit literally flying in all directions. He barged out of Isco’s arms and clambered up on Franco’s abdomen, using his little hands to slap Franco’s face. “Vazquez! Where did you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Franco laughed. But shit, he hadn’t seen Junior in like, more than a month, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Junior.

“Vazquez, papa don’t let me call you until you wake.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. He hugged Junior close to him. “Well, you did the best and loudest call.”

“I’m best,” Junior said contentedly.

Then Isco decided he’d like to join in the party, so he put the laptop aside and wrapped his arms tightly around Junior and Franco. They lay there in a pile for a while, a rather unstable pile because Junior kept flailing his arms around to touch Isco and Franco’s faces.

“I like my papas,” he eventually said.

Isco froze for a moment and stared at Junior. He sat up and took Junior off Franco, putting Junior on one of his arms and using his other hand to wipe Junior’s sticky face. Then he stood up with Junior sitting on his arm and started to walk out of the room slowly, only making shy eye contact with Franco for a split second to smile at Franco before breaking it by dipping his head and directing his smile at the floor. Junior continued flailing his arms towards Franco over Isco’s shoulder, but all Franco could do was smile at him. And even that took some effort.

Franco should have seen this as some sort of omen for the day instead of just one event on its own, but he deemed it his biggest oversight to have not.

He eventually got out of bed and brushed his teeth before going outside to see what Isco and Junior were up to. All the clocks in Isco’s house displayed timings that were minutes apart, something that always bothered Franco but which Isco didn’t seem to mind so much about. Anyway, from Franco’s observation, their averaged time would be somewhere around 11.20am.

Isco and Junior were in the kitchen digging into one of Junior’s baby cookie boxes and giggling conspiratorially to each other. Franco went to the living room and sat on the couch by himself. He suddenly felt like he wasn’t a part of this. The feeling had come so suddenly, like a blast of strong wind. It wasn’t the least bit subtle.

Isco and Junior eventually made their way to the couch and sat down. Junior tried to offer one of his soggy half-eaten biscuits to Franco, with both hands, but Franco shook his head and smiled.

“Let’s go out for lunch,” Isco suggested.

Franco nodded. He went to change his clothes while Isco prepared all of Junior’s things, including his pram because it was going to be his naptime. Franco stood at the door ruffling Junior’s hair as he clung on to Franco’s legs and tried to climb up them.

Junior fell asleep right as they got a seat in the restaurant, which worked well because then Isco and Franco could get a peaceful lunch. Franco didn’t really feel like talking, though, so he just listened to Isco. And Isco didn’t really talk about anything much at all, just told Franco some things about his Christmas break. When Junior awoke Franco was relieved, because then there wouldn’t be so many awkward silences that Isco had to work so hard to fill.

“You’re quiet,” Isco finally said as they took a walk after Junior was fed.

Franco shrugged.

A long silence. Junior was leaning out of his pram, observing his surroundings curiously. There was no sound between them except for the pram’s wheels on the uneven concrete.

“What’s wrong?” Isco asked softly. “Don’t say nothing’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”

Franco turned to him. He had this. This really concerned look on his face, and Franco couldn’t help but give in right away. Isco cared about him. Franco knew Isco cared about him. It was just. The big picture was just something that Franco could not understand.

“It’s nothing,” he finally said.

“Franco.”

“It’s just, when he said,” Franco started, gesturing to Junior. “That he liked his papas.”

Isco blinked once, then shifted his gaze forward, away from Franco. “Yeah.”

“You…you wouldn’t like me to be his dad?”

“I would,” Isco said earnestly. He gave Franco’s hand a squeeze. “Of course I would. Why would you think that?”

“Just, just the way you reacted.”

“No,” Isco said softly. “I would love for you to be his dad.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Isco whispered. “I just. Franco. I just want to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I’m scared,” Isco said. “I’m scared of…of scaring you away. I told you that we’re going to take it slow, as slow as you want. I’m scared that if I come across too eager, then…then I’ll scare you away. So, like. I don’t want to. Okay?”

“I just want you to be truthful,” Franco said. His hand was fucking _shaking_ and sweating but Isco was holding it so tightly that Franco couldn’t take it out.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Completely honest?”

“Completely honest.”

Isco sighed. He slid his fingers more tightly in between Franco’s. “I want you to be Junior’s dad.”

“Yeah?” Franco whispered. He felt his heart flutter violently and then barely settle. “You…you see me as his dad, in the future?”

Isco nodded. “I see myself with you…for a long, long time. I just…I didn’t want to say it because then you’d think we were moving too fast, and then you’ll be scared, and –“

“I won’t be scared.”

“– and then you’ll leave me.”

“I won’t leave you, Alarcon.”

“I just,” Isco said, and then shrugged. He didn’t continue.

“I thought,” Franco started, then pried his hand out of Isco’s because it was getting slimy and he just felt like he couldn’t talk about this while physically touching Isco. He stuffed his trembling hands in his pockets. “I thought we were…temporary.”

“Why would you say that?” Isco asked, and he sounded. He sounded devastated.

“I didn’t. You said it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You told Junior.”

Isco stopped in his tracks. He turned to Franco. “I didn’t tell Junior that you and I are temporary.”

“He told me that…that you told him his new dad is temporary.”

“I didn’t say that,” Isco whispered, and his eyes were damp and glittering like he was going to cry, and Franco just. “I _didn’t say that_.”

“Then where did Junior hear it from?”

“So this is it? You’d rather trust a baby spouting nonsense than trust me?”

“You told me that day, too. In Palermo. You told me you didn’t believe in forever. You told me that nothing is forever, that Junior is the only forever in your life. I’m not, like, jealous of Junior or whatever, but I just. Alarcon. I just want to know where I stand. Where we stand. I just want to know if you see me in your future.”

“Of course I see you in my future,” Isco said, his voice thick. He blinked his tears away violently. “Franco. You have to understand that in my life, in my entire life, there has never been something or someone that has come and stayed. Everything has been temporary. _Everything_. My life has just been a twenty four year-long whirlwind of comings and goings. It’s difficult for me to think of something, to plan for something, that I’ve never even felt or understood before. And yes, I told Junior that everything is temporary. But I didn’t even tell him _you_ were his new dad! This has _nothing_ to do with you _at all,_ Franco. I told him, _maybe_ you’ll have a new dad. _Maybe_ your new dad is temporary. _Maybe_ he won’t stay. Because I can’t _guarantee_ that, Franco. I can’t tell Junior that he has a new dad and then three months later, you’re gone.”

“Why would I be gone three months later?”

“I don’t freaking know!” Isco exclaimed. “Maybe I screwed up or whatever. Maybe you changed your mind. Maybe we went too fast and crashed into a wall. Because all the other times I’ve introduced someone to Junior, she’ll be gone, she’ll be _gone_ from our lives like, a month later, and I never know what to tell Junior. And with you, I’m just. I’m constantly worried that we’re going too fast for your liking, that I’ll make you scared of committing. And I just keep reeling it back, I keep trying to play it low key, trying to keep everything to myself, and I Just. And I don’t know, Franco. I don’t ever know with you.”

“What do you mean?” Franco whispered. He felt like _he_ was on the verge of crying, too.

“I can never tell,” Isco said, and he was sobbing and Franco just wanted to wrap him up in a hug but he wasn’t sure if he would be shoved aside. “I try so, so hard, Franco, but I can never tell how you feel. I try so freaking hard and all I can ever get is how you are on the outside. I know you like me. You like me enough to be in a relationship with me. But –“

“But you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that,” Isco whispered. He turned and grabbed the pram with both hands and started walking again. “Let’s just go.”

“You don’t believe me,” Franco said, jogging after him. “Is that it? You don’t believe me when I tell you I like you and I want to be with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you on the street.”

“Alarcon.”

Isco halted his steps again and turned to Franco. “You see? You can’t even call me by my first name. It’s always Alarcon. Alarcon this, Alarcon that. Is this still just a relationship of convenience for you? Am I just – just Alarcon to you?”

“No,” Franco said. “You’re not just Alarcon to me.”

They stood there silently for a while, fuming, staring at each other. Franco half expected Isco to just turn and walk away. But he didn’t.

Instead, he asked, “So you want to know the entire truth?”

Franco nodded.

Isco took a deep breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“I love you,” he said.

Franco felt his entire body freeze up, down to his bones. The world sped up around him. The people walking around them suddenly just zoomed past as blur spots. Franco and Isco just stood there in a little bubble of their own. Franco’s hands begun shaking again, but besides just shaking they were also _freezing_ , and Franco. Franco didn’t remember ever being this _frightened._

Franco _hadn’t known._ He hadn’t known that Isco felt this deeply about him. He hadn’t known that…that Isco was so scared, that Isco was as scared as Franco was himself, but of a completely different thing. He hadn’t known that Isco was trying to reel it back. He didn’t even know what exactly Isco meant by saying that everything was temporary anymore.

“I…” Franco stammered, even though in his mind he knew _perfectly well_ what he wanted to say. _I love you, too._ Franco just wanted to say I love you but Franco just _couldn’t._

Isco raised his eyebrows to say, ‘see?’ He sighed as he crossed his arms across his chest, an act of defensiveness. “You can’t ask me, Franco, you can’t just _ask_ me to tell you the entire truth because there are just some things that are better left unsaid, at least at this point. Even though it tears me apart every second, every time I look at you and wish so bad that I could say it. Because I know you’re not _ready_ for it, Franco, and when I said I didn’t believe in forever, I said it because I knew if I said I believe that you and I, Franco and Isco, would be infinite – you would be scared. Just like you are now. But I do. Franco, I do. I believe in _our_ forever and I want it to go on and on and on, like the oldest stars in the universe, still burning bright after billions of years.

“You wanted to know the truth. This is the truth. The entire truth. Just now, when I said ‘but’ – when I said ‘but,’ it wasn’t ‘but I don’t believe you.’ It was ‘but I love you and I don’t want this to be too fast for you.’ This is what I’ve been trying to say to you over the past few weeks, but been too afraid of saying because part of me didn’t want to push you too quickly and part of me was too afraid that you wouldn’t say it back. This is what I’ve whispered to you over the phone when you’ve hung up or into your shirt when you couldn’t hear me. When you’ve left the room or when you’ve fallen asleep. This is what I want to say to you. I love you, Franco, and this is the truth, and keeping it to myself has been tearing me apart, it’s tearing me into pieces but at least now I know. I know I was right not to say it because this is too fast for you, you don’t feel the same way, and you can’t say it back. Now I know how you really feel.”

Then he turned, grabbed Junior’s pram so hard his knuckles turned white, and continued walking without looking back.

Franco stood where he was, watching Isco’s silhouette fade into the distance. He didn’t understand. He _couldn’t understand_ why he couldn’t say it back. He was just. Just suddenly really scared, really, _really scared_. It was like he had completely lost control of himself. Not of his life, like he’d always feared, but _of himself._ Franco had lost control of himself and it was a far greater failure than anything Franco had ever experienced.

So maybe Isco _had_ been right all this time. Isco wasn’t the limiting factor here. It was Franco. Isco was doing everything _for Franco._

And in turn, Franco couldn’t even say aloud how he truly felt. It had never even _occurred_ to Franco that saying those words was a possibility. Franco still didn’t even _know what love was_. He knew he wanted to spend forever with Isco. But he didn't know if that was - if that was _love_.

But it also meant that Isco was wrong about one thing. He _knew Franco_. He knew how Franco felt. He knew that Franco would be scared, that it was better if he didn’t say it to Franco just yet. He didn’t know as little about Franco as he thought he did.

Franco stood there in the street for a while. He didn’t know how long. He didn’t care. He just physically couldn’t move.

He was jolted back into reality when someone bumped into him and didn’t apologize. He started walking in a random direction, ducking into the first side alley he saw. He followed the maze of side alleys for the rest of the day, until his tears fully blurred his vision and he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. Not because of physical exhaustion, but. But because of mental exhaustion.

Somehow, Franco managed to find his way back to Isco’s place, where all his things were. He didn’t expect to stay the night. He just wanted to grab his things and leave. He didn’t even know if Isco would welcome him there.

He opened the door to see Isco sitting alone on the couch in defeat, shoulders heaving with gentle sobs.

Franco sat beside him silently and stared ahead at the blank TV screen. He could feel all of Isco’s sobs, every single one of them, as tiny vibrations in his bones.

Franco shut his eyes. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell Isco he loved Isco. He wanted to say those three words, I love you, he wanted to say it to Isco over and over again until his throat went dry.

But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out of it.

When Franco opened his eyes again Isco was staring at him, tears streaming down his cheeks and his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked like he desperately wanted to talk to Franco, like he had a million things to tell Franco, but he didn’t know which ones would make this right. Franco understood. Because Franco felt the same way.

Franco gazed back at him, tears falling out of his own eyes. Franco just. Franco _didn’t know what to do_. He inched closer to Isco as Isco lifted his hands, seemingly to reach out to Franco.

Despite Franco’s long found desperate need to take control, Franco had only ever been sure of one thing in his life – he could never express himself with words better than he expressed himself using his body.

So this was going to end exactly the way it had all started.

Franco bridged the gap between them using his arms, his hands landing on Isco’s cheeks as his lips did on Isco’s quivering ones. A sob passed from Isco’s mouth to Franco’s, a little breathless gasp of air as Isco’s fingers tightened around Franco’s arms and pulled. Their bodies crashed fiercely but soundlessly against each other. In the quiet whisper of their clothes brushing together, the swishing caress of palms on skin, and their quick breaths intermingling between their lips – Franco heard the silent question from Isco, _Do you love me?_

 _I do_ , Franco replied with his lips tracing Isco’s jaw. With his hands moving to the back of Isco’s neck and pulling him closer, gently but firmly, until Isco was in his lap with his hands tightly around Franco’s waist. He said it with his fingers slowly sliding into Isco’s hair, into Isco’s hair which was already all grown out and he never said why he suddenly decided to let it grow but Franco knew it was because Franco had mentioned that one time on their way to Vegas that Isco should do it.

 _I do,_ Franco said with his hands moving to tightly grasp Isco’s thighs and wrap them around him so he could stand up and start walking to the room. He said it when Isco’s lips found his again, tears salty as they fell into the edge of Franco’s mouth. He said it as he tried to kiss all of those tears away, the taste on his tongue getting saltier and saltier until he realised that it was because he was tasting his own tears, too.

 _I do,_ Franco breathed into Isco’s neck, tiny intricate patterns as he put Isco gently down on the bed. He said it as they removed each other’s clothes with a calmness that did not match the chaos in their minds, a familiarity that did not match the distance between their hearts.

 _I do,_ Franco marked on Isco’s pale, sensitive skin, a path down his chest and abdomen. Lips wet and sticky at the same time with tears, printing the words he wanted to say so badly but for some godforsaken reason wasn’t able to. Fingers alternating between softly grazing Isco’s ribs and violently cutting themselves on them, because if there was one way Franco was willing to bleed to death by, it was by Isco’s ribs.

 _I do,_ Franco traced with his fingers, down Isco’s shoulders, down his asymmetrically tattooed arms and the accompanying bulging forearm veins. Into Isco’s palms, uncurling Isco’s fists and sliding his fingers into where they had always felt most welcome.

 _Do you?_ Isco asked with his upward-thrusting hips, with the soft moan that escaped his lips as Franco began to work him up with his mouth. With his legs, moving to hook themselves over Franco’s shoulder, his thighs squeezing both sides of Franco’s head. With the little nod that he gave when Franco looked up fifteen minutes later and Isco was ready. With the complete lack of a smile on his face; not even the tiniest upward twitch of the lips, just the desperate, turned-on hanging of the jaw. Not even when Franco opened his drawer and found a neat stack of condoms at the front, where Franco liked them.

 _I do_ , Franco confirmed with his first thrust into Isco, soft but swift and causing Isco to buck upwards. With his lips as they met Isco’s again, their kiss punctuated by a coordinated sob. With their tears mixing once again, with their whimpers and thrusts equally rocking their bodies. Their abdomens pressed together, shuddering and sweaty. Their limbs tangled, thighs curled around each other’s, arms lost in the fumble to reach for something to grasp.

 _Do you really?_ Isco pursued with his tongue as it wandered into Franco’s mouth and played its own little game. With his arms as they firmly held Franco against him. With his hips as they continued allowing Franco to thump into them, allowing Franco to chase his own pleasure and provide Isco with his own. With his lips and beard as they grazed Franco’s clavicle up to his shoulder, where he rested his chin.

 _I really, really do_ , Franco tried one last time as Isco gave a final groan, teeth gritted and hissing under his breath, before collapsing back on the bed and pulling Franco more tightly on top of him. Franco went slack himself mere seconds later, body weight fully resting on Isco, his face landing on the pillow with his lips to Isco’s temple and aching, just _aching_ to say those three words but still, _still failing._

Isco closed his eyes like Franco was prohibited from looking at them. He waited for Franco to say something.

“I’m sorry,” was all Franco managed to say, in a weak whisper.

Isco swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and gave a barely audible sigh.

He pushed Franco off him and turned on his side, facing the window and away from Franco.

Franco lay face down for a while, his sobs threatening to break him into two. He tried to keep them in. He tried so hard his bottom lip bled from how hard he was biting down on it. He clenched his fist around the pillow but even though the pillowcase his nails dug into his palms.

He turned to Isco and saw Isco’s shoulders shuddering again, incoherently and violently. His arms were crossed over his chest and one of his fists clenched tightly and resting over his waist, his knuckles white but his hand trembling so hard his fist threatened to unravel.

Franco got up slowly and picked his clothes off the floor. He pulled off the condom, tied it up, and dumped it in the bin. He put on his clothes, and they kind of stunk of sweat and exhaustion and _utter failure_ , and Franco was still sticky but he put everything on with shaking hands. He just. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there. He couldn’t stand the stench of disappointment in the air. The suffocating remnants, the incriminating evidence of how much Franco had hurt and disappointed Isco just by being too mute to say what he truly felt.

Franco turned back around once he was done putting on his clothes. Isco had turned and was now lying on his back, one arm slack on his chest and the other splayed out in where Franco had been lying a few minutes ago. His lips were pursed again as he tried to silence his sobs. He peered up at Franco with his eyes pooling with tears. He waited.

Franco tried. Franco tried again, even though Isco had been right and he _was_ scared. Franco _wanted to say it_ but Franco was _scared._ It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t the first time that Franco had been afraid of the sheer _enormity_ of his feelings towards Isco, so frightened that he couldn’t bring himself to say it, couldn’t put it into words.

Franco opened his mouth.

And nothing came out of it again.

Franco shut his mouth.

Isco squeezed his eyes shut as the tears fell and made two drops on the white bedsheet. He turned back to the window again, sliding under the sheets so Franco couldn’t see his shoulders shuddering. He didn’t turn back around again, like he just wanted to be left alone.

Franco stood and stared at Isco’s back for a while. Isco was. He was so tiny. He looked so small and Franco wanted to cuddle him forever. But Isco was also – also so big. He had a big heart and the biggest mind and Franco. Franco loved him.

Franco turned and hurried out of the room before Isco could hear the sudden sob that wracked his body so hard. He went to Junior’s room across the hall, where he was sleeping peacefully. He pressed a quick kiss to Junior’s head, wiping the tears that had fallen on Junior’s blanket. He stumbled down the hall with his blurry vision, grabbed his bag, and went out the front door, shutting it softly behind him.

Franco couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to just say the words, _I’m not scared, I’m not scared and I love you and I want to spend forever with you,_ because that was exactly what he meant. Because sure, he was scared to _say_ it – but he knew if just _could,_ he would mean every single word of it.

Tears were beginning to blind Franco again so he wiped them off. He was _furious_ with himself. He just. He wanted to hit himself, hard, over and over again, for being such a fucking coward.

But he had to get his shit together for now. He had to get out of Madrid and – fuck, there was still that fucking La Liga interview crap the next day – and to God knew where, Seville maybe, even though Franco couldn’t deal with being alone. But he couldn’t go to Palermo or Córdoba because he certainly could not get on a plane in his current state.

So Franco walked. He walked down Isco’s driveway and he walked along the dimly-lit street, past the dark driveways of all the sleeping families. He walked and walked and walked and he didn’t even know where the fuck he was going, but he eventually ended up in the city and all the shops were already closed.

In all honesty, Franco knew it was his fault. He shouldn’t have pushed Isco. He should never have pushed Isco, should never even have _thought_ about it especially because Isco had been trying so, so _fucking_ hard _not to push Franco._ Franco should have just. He should have let Isco do it his way. He should have known himself better than to get caught off-guard like that by something he _inflicted on himself._ He should have let Isco take control because admittedly, Isco was a million times better at it than Franco was.

Franco ended up outside the diner that Isco had brought him to on their first booty call-date-outing. It was still open. It was the only thing open on the entire street, lighting up the side road it was on.

Franco stood outside for a while as he got attacked by memories. Happier times. What the fuck had Franco _done_ to Isco? He had. He had turned Isco into this sad, miserable person who couldn’t speak his mind like he used to. Isco wasn’t like this when Franco first met him. Isco was happy and carefree and Franco had built him a shell and shoved him in it.

He didn’t realise he was just fucking standing there with his hand on the door handle until a group of people came up behind him and tried to get inside. They asked Franco if he wanted to go in and Franco ignored them, just turned and walked back into the street before they could realise he was Franco Vazquez bawling his eyes out.

The next side alley Franco came across was dark. Franco ducked into it. It led to a dead end.

Franco put his bag on the ground and leaned his back against the wall. He looked up at the tiny patch of sky between the two buildings. There was a single bright white spot shining down on him. Franco thought maybe it was Sirius. Or Venus.

He slid down the wall and squatted on the ground. He wondered where all these tears were coming from. Franco had never cried so much in his life and he only had himself to blame. He had ruined everything, _everything good_ that he had _ever_ had in his life just for his stupid, obsessive need to plan his life out.

Franco stood up and paced the length of the alley a few times. It was so dark he almost tripped over his own feet. But he couldn’t stop moving or he would do something fucking stupid like rip all his hair out of his head. He couldn’t stop moving or it’d all come flooding back on him, like the highest magnitude of tsunamis.

Why couldn’t he say it? Franco didn’t get it. He didn’t get why it was so difficult for him to say, why the prospect of saying those words was just so inexplicably daunting to him.

He stopped in his tracks, shoved his hands into his pockets, and said to empty space, “Isco, I love you.”

So he could say it. _Franco could say it._ He tried again. “I love you, Isco Alarcon.”

Franco fell to his knees, sobbing. He bent over forward until his forehead touched the filthy ground. “No,” he whispered to himself, desperately. Regretfully. Disbelievingly. He wasn’t supposed to be able to say this.

“I love you,” Franco breathed into the ground. “I love you, Isco. I love you. I love you.”

He repeated it, over and over and over and over again. He said it a hundred times. A thousand times. He lost count of how many times.

He got up, off the ground, wanting to go back to Isco’s place to tell him just that. _I love you, Francisco Alarcon._

But when he closed his eyes and pictured Isco in front of him, pictured himself saying those words to Isco – he froze. The words froze in his throat.

“God fucking damn it!” Franco screamed into the still night air. He turned around and went to the dumpster at the end of the alley. He kicked it and punched it and he yelled and cried but nothing could take away the pain in his chest. Isco thought Franco didn’t love him back. He thought _Franco didn’t love him back_. Isco was the one person in the world whom Franco loved _the most_. No one else would even come close.

After a while the dumpster got boring so Franco started to punch the brick wall instead. He punched it twice, thrice, and broke the skin of his knuckles. The pain was, ironically, a relief. It was a relief from that other pain caused by the violent throbbing of his remorseful heart in his ribcage.

Franco curled up on the ground next to the wall and the dumpster, cradling his bleeding hand. He’d run out of tears to cry but still felt that sinking feeling in his chest, still wanted to bawl his fucking eyes out. It was choking him. This sadness was choking him to death. Franco had always loved to throw things around, to wreck things, when he was mad. But this time, he couldn’t wreck anything.

He had already gone and wrecked his entire life.

Franco wasn’t totally sure how long he lay there, but his watch read past midnight when he looked at it. He got on his hands and knees and tested the waters. His right knuckle still hurt but he managed to crawl to his bag. He was lucky that it was so dark that he couldn’t see exactly how fucking disgusting this whole crawling-in-an-alley thing was. And honestly, he couldn’t even care right then. He was fucking freezing his fucking ass off and he didn’t feel a thing.

He got his phone from his bag and texted Federico, with autocorrect helping him for once, _You guys still in Palermo?_

 _Yup,_ Federico replied quickly. _Why?_

_Can you both come to Seville? Please._

_Seville? Aren’t you in Madrid?_

_Can you please just come to Seville? I can’t be alone._

_What happened?_ Federico asked. Franco just. He just sat there for a long while, trying to put into words what had happened. He didn’t manage to.

 _Please,_ he sent again.

 _Ok,_ Federico texted. _Nico and I will catch the next flight._

Franco got up, hoisted his bag over his shoulder, and dragged himself to the train station. He got into the empty restroom and collapsed on the floor in one of the cubicles, thoroughly exhausted.

Franco had a twenty minute nap. _On the bathroom floor. Franco._

He was jolted awake by nothing except his own guilty conscience. He sighed and went to the sinks to examine himself in the mirror.

He still had tear streaks running down his face. There was a little bleeding scratch on his left temple. His hair was a mess from lying down on all those hard surfaces. His jacket was lopsided over his hunched shoulders. He looked as in pain as he felt.

He looked like a complete, absolute failure of a man.

Franco had to force himself to stop looking at the pathetic man in the mirror. He washed his hands with soap before splashing some water on his face and his hair to smoothen it back. He washed the scratch on his face and the wound on his knuckle, and winced when the latter stung. He stood there with the tap running over his hand until the water that went down the drain faded from red, to pink, to transparent. He dabbed it dry with a paper towel.

Then he went back outside, emptied his bag of all his clothes, and wrapped himself up in all of them. He fell asleep on a train station bench with his mind still running thoughts of Isco. Franco was convinced it wouldn’t stop running thoughts of Isco for the rest of his life.


	23. This Is Your Racing Heart, Can You Feel It?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Sorry for the long wait and thank you for being so patient! I hope this chapter will be worth your time :)
> 
> So I've noticed that AO3 has been cutting some of your comments in half, idk if comments have been deleted though but if you've been waiting for my reply and not getting it, do let me know/send it again! Sorry about that!
> 
> Title is from Laura Palmer by Bastille.

So Isco was mad. Isco was really, really mad.

But he wasn’t as mad at Franco as he was mad at himself.

He was mad at himself for pushing it. For pushing Franco when he already knew that Franco wasn’t ready. For so dramatically overcompensating for the inability to tell Franco he loved Franco. For getting so angry at Franco’s desire for the truth that he blurted everything out. For getting his hopes up and wishing that Franco would somehow be able to say ‘I love you too’ to Isco right there and then. For even getting the least bit mad when it turned out Franco couldn’t. For not stopping Franco when Franco left. For making Franco think that just because Franco didn’t love Isco back, Isco didn’t love him anymore.

He was mad at himself for getting mad at Franco.

He cried himself to sleep that night, even though the sleep he had shouldn’t even have been considered a sleep because he woke up every ten minutes, disrupted by thoughts of Franco. Of Franco crying. Of Franco looking so utterly _disappointed_ in himself.

He’d slept for about an hour straight when Junior woke and started screaming for him from across the hall. Isco sighed. They’d come home without Franco the previous night and Junior had asked a ton of questions. And now it was morning and Franco evidently wasn’t there, so Junior was going to ask even more.

Isco got out of bed and picked his clothes up from the floor. He’d been too tired and heartbroken to put them back on the previous night and had just settled with sleeping cold and naked without Franco’s warmth to neutralize things next to him. He went over to Junior’s room and lifted him out of his cot.

“How you doin’?” he smiled.

“Hi papa,” Junior beamed at him.

“Hi,” Isco couldn’t help but chuckle. He brought Junior to the bathroom to brush his teeth and for a diaper change.

Junior was silent until both his teeth and Isco’s were clean. He was silent as Isco brought him to sit down in the living room and turned on the TV for him. He examined his surroundings intently, though, every nook and cranny that a grown man could possibly hide in.

When Isco returned with a boiled egg for Junior’s breakfast, Junior asked, “Papa where’s Vazquez? Vazquez here yesterday.”

Isco sighed softly. He shook his head at Junior and smiled. He tried to distract Junior by breaking the egg into tiny pieces and feeding it to him. It succeeded for a while; Junior happily grabbed Isco’s fingers and led them to his own mouth.

Isco brought him to wash his hands, and then back to the couch again just in time for the start of his favourite cartoon. Isco heaved an internal sigh of relief, because at least Junior would be too distracted to ask any more questions. He put his feet up on the coffee table and put Junior on his lap, his hands around Junior’s waist like a seatbelt.

It was silent between them for a while. But only for a while.

Junior turned around right in the middle of his cartoon and asked, “Papa are you sad?”

“I’m not sad, baby,” Isco lied. “Why?”

“Papa don’t talk to me today.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “What do you want to talk about?”

Junior stared at him for a while, like he didn’t understand the question or he hadn’t prepared an answer for that. Isco guessed it was the latter. Junior lay his cheek on Isco’s chest like he was trying to give Isco some comfort. He watched the cartoon from the corner of his eye.

“You’ll spoil your eyes,” Isco said, gently shifting Junior so he faced the front again.

Junior wriggled around in Isco’s lap until he could get a grip of Isco’s collar. Then he tugged on it hard and dragged himself up so he was standing on Isco’s thighs. He wrapped his arms tightly around Isco’s neck and hugged Isco close. It was very sudden but it touched Isco so much Isco almost started crying. He clutched Junior close to him.

“Papa did I do something bad?” Junior asked.

“No, why do you say that?”

“Papa look very sad. Papa don’t wanna talk to me, didn’t sing the song to me.”

“I’m not sad,” Isco said again, but didn’t even manage to convince himself because tears welled up in his eyes and his breath caught in his throat, causing his voice to break. He curled his arms more tightly around Junior. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you papa.”

“I’m sorry,” Isco sobbed. “I’m sorry I’ve never been able to have someone else stick around. That I can’t seem to keep someone long enough. I’m sorry that – that you love Vazquez so much and I went and ruined it. I’m sorry.”

“Papa I love you,” Junior said again, softly. His hands wandered into Isco’s curls.

“I love you, too,” Isco whispered. He kissed Junior on the cheek and wiped the tears that had stained it. “I love you.”

Junior let go of Isco’s neck and put his hands on Isco’s face, like he wanted to help wipe the tears away. “Papa you are strong,” he said loudly, slapping Isco on the cheeks with each word. “Papa you are big, strong man.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. He kept one hand on Junior’s waist to hold him up and used the other to wipe his tears because Junior had failed spectacularly at it. “I’m big and strong.”

“Yeah!”

Isco pointed to both his cheeks and Junior gave them a kiss each. “You’ll always love papa?”

“I’ll always _lurrrve_ papa,” Junior said, giving Isco’s cheeks a few more slaps for good measure. “Papa don’t be sad anymore.”

“Okay,” Isco smiled, and it felt real this time. He thought of mentioning Franco to Junior again, but decided not to dig a deeper hole for himself right after getting out of one. “Wanna turn around and watch your cartoon?”

Junior shook his head. “I wanna play with papa.”

“Okay, what do you wanna play?”

Junior slid off Isco slowly, with a big smile, and tugged on Isco’s fingers until Isco stood up and followed him to his play area. He sat Isco down, grabbed his toy cars, and ran them along the roads of his little city rug. He took out his little Lego men and put them on the buildings, making up a story for each of them. Making up stories for where all the cars were going. All in his baby language which Isco struggled to understand but enjoyed anyway, because this was his son and even if Isco lost everything else, he knew he would always have Junior.

Isco’s dad texted halfway through, asking, _Meet you at HQ directly tomorrow? 10am?_

Isco sighed. There was nothing to hold an interview about anymore. No couple to do a special photoshoot on. Isco and Franco were nothing.

 _Cancel it,_ he replied his dad.

He received a call from his dad immediately after sending that message. He rejected it. He was in no mood to explain what had happened.

 _Do you want me to call them to cancel?_ Dad texted. _What happened?_

 _I don’t want to talk about it¸_ Isco typed. _Just let them know I want to cancel it._

_Cancel, or postpone?_

Isco gave that a thought. A brief thought. Franco had gone, he had left and hadn’t come back for almost twelve hours, and he hadn’t even texted Isco. He wasn’t going to come back. And Isco had to stop _hoping_ that he would come back. Because Franco didn’t love Isco. And Isco should start trying to feel the same. To protect himself. To protect Junior.

 _Cancel_ , Isco finally replied. He put his phone aside and returned his focus to Junior.

“Papa your turn,” Junior said after he’d exhausted all his ideas. He gathered all the cars and Lego men and pushed them towards Isco. “Story.”

So Isco did his own version of Junior’s little game and made up stories for all the little men and the little cars, and Junior loved it so much he couldn’t stop smiling. It was – it was eerily similar to what Isco and Franco loved to do together. Watch people and make up stories about them. It was no wonder Franco and Junior got along so well.

But as the morning passed, as Isco took turns with Junior to play Junior’s little game – he couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in his stomach. Like he was slowly but surely falling into a pit of despair. Because despite having such a great time with his son, wasting the morning in the nicest way ever, Isco couldn’t help but feel a little empty.

He thought maybe it was because there was an empty space next to him, in the middle of Junior’s play area, where Franco used to sit.

\------

Nicolas and Federico arrived in Seville the following afternoon, just a few hours after Franco had gotten home himself. Franco had just crashed on the couch in all his dirty clothes, and could barely drag himself to the door to open it for his brothers.

He went back and collapsed on the couch again because Nicolas and Federico just stood at the door staring at him. He didn’t blame them, honestly. He probably looked like shit. He had never looked like shit since – well, since age fourteen or something, when he found out he could make himself not look like shit.

“What the fuck happened?” Federico asked as he and Nicolas followed their youngest brother inside and sat down on the couch, one at Franco’s head and the other at Franco’s feet.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Franco said.

“You can’t make us book last minute tickets over here and tell us you don’t wanna talk about it,” Nicolas pointed out.

“Is it about Isco?” Federico asked.

Franco didn’t answer. He felt his brothers exchange glances over him, like they were debating their next move. Surely enough, they both got up at the same time and went to the kitchen. Franco heard low murmurs drifting out soon after. He closed his eyes. He was tired.

The next time he opened them, his brothers were sitting next to him again, in the same positions as they had been in earlier, like they genuinely thought it was better to sit like this and not together. There was a bowl of cooked pasta on the table in front of them.

“For you,” Nicolas said without even turning his head from the TV. “Comfort food.”

“It’s actually a bribe so you’ll tell us what’s happening,” Federico added.

Franco sighed. He sat up and took the bowl of pasta, and Federico tried to pry it away from him and only give it back when Franco had opened up, but he failed. Or rather, he gave in to Franco, because Franco probably looked fucking miserable.

Franco didn’t realise how famished he actually was until he finished the pasta three minutes later.

“We were supposed to share that,” Federico pointed out.

Franco ignored him. He inched closer to Nicolas, knowing his eldest brother would always be on his side. He leaned on Nicolas’ shoulder and sighed again.

“What happened?” Nicolas asked softly.

Franco shrugged.

"You have to tell us someday, you know.”

“I lost him,” Franco whispered, the immensity of the situation suddenly hitting him again, knocking the breath out of him. He started sobbing into Nicolas’ shoulder. “I fucking lost him.”

“How?” Federico asked, sliding closer to his brothers.

“I don’t know,” Franco whimpered like a pathetic little cat.

“What happened exactly?’

“I don’t – I don’t wanna talk about it now,” Franco said, because it still tore him apart every time he even thought about it. “I just. I screwed up.”

Everyone went silent for a while. Franco’s phone buzzed on the table.

 _Event tomorrow at HQ is cancelled,_ the text from Franco’s agent read. _Isco’s dad called to cancel._

 _Cancelled, or postponed?_ Franco typed with shaking fingers.

 _Cancelled,_ was the reply he received.

Franco threw his phone across the room. It bounced off the wall in two separate pieces and landed on the floor with a loud smash, scaring both Nicolas and Federico.

“What the fuck?” Federico asked once he’d recovered.

“It’s over,” Franco whispered, the finality of this situation hitting him like a truck, taking his breath away. Cancelled. Not postponed. _Cancelled._ Which meant _it was never going to happen_. Isco didn’t think it was ever going to happen. Isco didn’t think there was ever going to be a reason for them to do a joint interview. Franco just. Franco suddenly wanted to vomit.

Franco got up and dashed to the bathroom, getting on his knees in front of the toilet and dry-hurling into it. Nothing came out even though Franco had just eaten an entire bowl of pasta. Franco was just. He was just so tired. He rested his forearms on the toilet set and sobbed into the toilet, the sound echoing back to him.

His brothers arrived by his side a moment later, kneeling with him and asking him things he couldn’t answer.

“Just get the fuck away from me!” Franco finally yelled, so loudly he could see the water in the toilet rippling.

But his brothers didn’t relent. Nicolas just grabbed him by the shoulders, and then by his cheeks, to make Franco look him in the eye.

“Tell us what the fuck happened,” he said. “We’ve never seen you like this.”

Franco stared at him for a while, his bottom lip trembling. He would’ve felt embarrassed, but on that day he had no fucking energy for that. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Nicolas didn’t let go of him.

“He cancelled the thing tomorrow,” Franco finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. “The interview we were supposed to give. He cancelled. Not postponed. He just cancelled the entire thing.”

“What happened between you two?”

Franco sighed. “It’s just,” he said. “It’s stupid.”

“Let us be the judge of that,” Nicolas said, but. But he didn’t sound mean, like he’d decided to stop teasing Franco because it wasn’t working.

Franco closed his eyes and just collapsed on Nicolas’ shoulder. He felt Nicolas’ arms wrap themselves tightly around him, and one of Federico’s hands land on his lower back. It was extremely comforting.

“He said he loved me,” Franco whispered. “I couldn’t say it back.”

A long, long silence.

“Do you?” Nicolas finally asked, softly.

“I do,” Franco started sobbing again even though he was pretty sure he’d run out of tears. “Fuck, I do. I love him.”

His brothers went silent again, but Franco felt like once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t even know what love is,” Franco whispered, his breath slowly being robbed, sliver by sliver. “I don’t even know, but I just know that I love him. I love Isco. I love him so much that sometimes it hurts, sometimes it makes me feel empty inside and so, so confused. But then I realise that it’s only because I always leave a part of me with him, I leave my heart in Madrid every time. _Every time_ I go there I leave my heart there with him. And it hurts so much that – that I can’t tell him even if I try. I don’t know why. I don’t know how and – I’ve never in my life loved someone like I love him. I’ve never in my life ever even loved _someone,_ at all. And I hate myself for not being able to say it. I hate myself for hurting him. I hate that I ran away. I hate that I can never forget the way he looked when he was waiting for me to say it back, that look of hope that slowly turned into disappointment. I hate that I made him feel that way. I hate that I’m a fucking coward and a fucking loser –“

“Don’t say that,” Nicolas interrupted. “You’re not.”

“– And I lost the one thing, the only thing in my life that’s worth living for.”

“You’re scared,” Federico said. “That’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Franco whispered, his shoulders giving a violent shudder. “You two don’t know this, but. Before I met Isco, I didn’t…feel this way. Romantic feelings. I didn’t feel them. I was – I thought I was aromantic.”

Silence again from his brothers. A thoughtful silence.

“And then Isco?” Nicolas finally asked.

“It took me so long,” Franco sobbed. “It took me so long to accept that I had been wrong about myself, that he had dug up a part of me I hadn’t known before. And he waited for me. He waited the entire time and I love him so, so fucking much. I swore I would never let him go. It took me so much to be with him and I was never going to let him go so easily. I love him. Nico. Fede. I love him.”

“Okay, okay,” Federico said gently. “It’s okay to be scared. It doesn’t mean you love him any less.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Franco said. “He thinks I don’t love him back, and he thinks he’s wrong for loving me. I know him. _I know him_. And now he’s mad and sad and I fucking hate myself.”

“Stop saying that,” Nicolas said.

“I’m so tired,” Franco whispered. He burrowed his face into Nicolas’ shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“Why don’t you go take another nap, hmm?” Nicolas said softly into Franco’s hair. “And then when you wake up, we’ll take you out for dinner, and you’ll figure this out. We’ll figure this out together. All three of us.”

“I want to say it back,” Franco whimpered. “I really, really do. I want to tell him.”

“We know,” Federico said, helping Nicolas to hoist Franco to his feet. “C’mon.”

They brought Franco to his bed and tucked him under the sheets. They gave him a pinch each on his cheeks and sat on each side of him to watch him cry himself to sleep.

“Hey,” Franco heard Federico say right before he fell asleep. “It’s not stupid.”

It made Franco feel just a little bit better.

\------

When Franco woke up again it was dark outside. His eyes were puffy and his nose was stuffed. He got out of bed with a sigh and trudged to the living room, where his brothers were watching TV silently.

They turned in unison when Franco’s figure filled the hallway. Franco managed the slightest upward twitch of the lips, and his brothers looked _overjoyed._

“How are you feeling?” Nicolas asked.

Franco shrugged. He just. He just felt exhausted. Like the ground was pulling him down and he had no choice but to let it because he was so empty that he couldn’t even try to stop himself anymore.

“Dinner?” Federico asked when Franco didn’t reply verbally.

Franco nodded. He went to brush his teeth and just stood under the shower letting the warm water pelt on his tired skin. He changed the dressing on his hand and got into fresh clothes before going outside to join his brothers.

It was already past eight, and it was a weeknight, so the streets were relatively empty. Franco was brought to a cozy restaurant. It was quiet and the interior was dark, like Nicolas and Federico knew that Franco didn’t have the energy to deal with bright lights and noise. Franco sat down obediently and jabbed his finger at the first thing he saw on the menu, which turned out to be fish.

The only noise that pierced the air was their utensils clanking against their plates. Franco ate slowly, finding a rhythm in the way he cut his fish, slathered it with sauce and salad leaves, and put it in his mouth. He repeated that over and over again, trying to ignore the fact that his brothers were watching him worriedly and exchanging concerned glances.

“So,” Nicolas finally said. “You like this place?”

Franco nodded. He put another piece of fish in his mouth.

“I found it while you were asleep,” Federico added.

“Yeah, he spent like two hours wandering the city.”

Franco nodded again. “Thanks,” he said, his voice breaking even with that one word.

“Hey,” Nicolas and Federico said in unison, getting up from their seats across from Franco in their booth and squeezing themselves on either side of Franco. “Try not to think about it,” Nicolas said.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” Franco whispered, trying not to let his tears fall into his fish.

“Everyone says that about their first heartbreak,” Nicolas said softly.

“Does it always feel like this?”

“Yeah,” Federico chimed in. “Like it’s the end of your life.”

“It is,” Franco sobbed. He felt like. Like someone was forcefully ripping his heart out of his chest. And it hurt and it stung and there was nothing Franco could do about it, and now there was a gaping hole where his heart used to be. An Isco-shaped hole.

“Don’t say that,” Federico said with a hard squeeze on Franco’s shoulder. “We got through it. Both of us. You’ll get through it too.”

“But I don’t wanna,” Franco said, his tears blurring out his view entirely. He put his fork and knife down on the table. “I don’t want this to be over.”

Nicolas gave a sigh. He took a napkin from the table and used it to wipe Franco’s tears dry. “Let’s finish our food and go home, and you can talk to us all about it, okay?”

Franco nodded, but. “I’m not hungry anymore,” he said. “You guys finish eating.”

His brothers glanced at each other again, but returned to their seats to continue eating. Franco asked for Federico’s phone and played with it for a while because, well. Because his phone had been wrecked by none other than himself.

He found himself opening his brother’s Instagram and going to Isco’s profile, just. Just going there and staring at Isco’s feed. Isco hadn’t deleted his photos with Franco. Franco wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Franco clicked on the latest photo, which also happened to be a photo of them together. In fact, the latest two and a half rows were just photos of Isco and Franco.

Franco thought maybe the best way to get rid of this pain was to make himself numb to it, so he scrolled through the comments.

As usual, Instagram started him from the bottom. From the latest comments.

The very last one, from seven seconds ago, read, _I’m so sorry to hear about this._

The second last one, _Are you two really broken up?_

The third, _Time to delete these photos lol._

And Franco thought, how the fuck did these people even know what happened?

He opened the browser and googled his own name.

The first thing on the search results was an article with the headline, _Isco and Franco Vazquez split within 1.5 months of coming out together._

The second article, _Isco and Franco Vazquez have public spat._

And they were both filled with watermarked photos of the both of them during their fight on the street, Isco holding Junior’s pram and looking really disappointed with Franco while Franco just stood there confused. Isco glaring at Franco. Isco’s hands in the air in an angry gesture. Isco walking away with Junior. Franco finally getting his shit together and stumbling off.

Franco tightened his grip on the phone because he was on the verge of flinging it across the room and wrecking it too but this was Federico’s phone and he couldn’t just do that.

So he got up from his seat, stuffed his clenched fists in his pockets, and walked out of the restaurant.

He heard his brothers fumble behind him, their forks and knives clanging on their plates, as they struggled to figure out what happened and decide what to do at the same time. “I just need to take a walk,” Franco called – well, he tried to call. It came out as more of a croak.

Franco got out on the dimly-lit street and pulled his hood over his head. He felt tears pool in his eyes again. He walked with his head down, face directed at the ground. Franco just. He just felt so _ashamed_ of himself. He didn’t know who he was anymore, he didn’t think he would ever get back control of himself, and he just felt so. So _dirty_. He wanted to scrub himself clean but he knew no matter how hard he tried, he would never feel clean again.

He bumped into someone on the way, shoulder against shoulder. He didn’t stop or look up. He just mumbled a ‘sorry’ and continued walking.

“What the fuck?” he heard the guy say.

“I said I’m fucking sorry,” Franco yelled.

A hand landed on Franco’s shoulder and shoved him until he turned around. It was this really angry guy, about the same height as Franco, decked in a black leather jacket and grey jeans. He had two minions behind him. They all smelled vaguely like alcohol.

“Say it louder,” he told Franco.

“I’m fucking sorry, fuck you,” Franco said. He turned to walk away but was stopped again.

“I recognize you,” the guy said. “Franco Vazquez, fucking faggot.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco said, fists clenched as he struggled to keep them by his side, knowing that if he made any sort of move on this dude, then he’d be fucked.

A knowing smirk appeared on leather jacket’s face. “Look, I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I’m glad you got rid of that Isco. He’s not a trustworthy person. And you’re better off without him. Although, well. You’d be better if you weren’t _gay,_ but I’ll take what I get.”

His minions started laughing behind him, but they stopped when Franco grabbed a fistful of his collar and shoved him up against the wall behind him. “Don’t you _dare_ say that about him,” he muttered, teeth gritted.

The smirk grew. “Stop crying, pussy. He only used you for the attention and now that he’s got it, he doesn’t want you anymore. Get the fuck over it.”

“Shut up,” Franco said. “Just shut up. Shut the fuck up!”

“Is that all you can say to me?” leather jacket laughed. “Just to shut up? You don’t really think that’d work, do you? So besides being a dirty, disgusting faggot, you’re also a fucking idiot.”

Franco pushed him against the wall again before letting go. He clenched his fists beside him again, so hard that his palms started to sting and bleed from how hard his nails were digging into them.

“Don’t you fucking dare to say that about my boyfriend ever again.”

“Your _boyfriend_ ,” the smirk returned. “Oh, has poor Franco forgotten you’ve broken up? That he doesn’t _want_ you anymore? I mean, that was pretty obvious from the photos.”

Franco couldn’t help but shove him against the wall again. “That’s my life and it’s none of your fucking business. I don’t even _know_ you.”

“Too bad, I know a whole lot about you,” leather jacket said. “Oh, but that’s all your _boyfriend’s_ fault, isn’t it? Before him, you were living a happy, peaceful life. He ruined your life, Franco Vazquez. Being gay ruined your life and even if I don’t know you, I’m smart enough to tell. And you being gay is fucking disgusting but don’t worry, at least you got out of it. Now let go of me before I bash your fucking head in.”

But Franco didn’t let him go. Franco continued pressing him against the wall, forearm across his shoulders. He just couldn’t think of anything to say even though he had a million thoughts running through his mind at the exact same time. Isco wasn’t making use of him. Isco hadn’t ruined his life. Isco had made his life a million times brighter and Franco would literally do anything for him. And Franco was just so fucking _tired_. Franco was _exhausted_ and so heartbroken he couldn’t function normally any longer. He could’ve just let go. He could’ve just let leather jacket go, walked away, and carried on with his life.

But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t just let him go like that after he’d said those things about Isco. He wanted _justice_ for Isco, no matter how tiny a slice.

“Take it back,” was all he managed to say. “Whatever you said about Isco. Take it all fucking back.”

“And if I don’t?” was all Franco heard before a fist landed on his face, hard.

Franco stumbled backwards but was grabbed by the shirt and shoved into the nearest dumpster alley. He was thrown against the wall and punched again on the same side of his face. He couldn’t open his eye. He slid to the ground but they continued pummeling him with kicks and punches, the whole time yelling homophobic slurs and insults towards Isco, and Franco felt like he was going to die. This was how he was going to die. He would’ve retaliated, but firstly, that would have gotten him in a shit ton of trouble, and secondly, well. He was one against three. He couldn’t even get a punch in sideways.

So he just lay there as fists and feet landed on him rhythmically. He just put his arms over his face and curled his knees up on himself and let it happen.

Fortunately for him, Federico appeared around the corner like, twenty seconds later. The longest twenty seconds of Franco’s life. He had his phone to his ear and he was yelling into it, most probably to Nicolas, “I found him!”

And then he yelled something about calling the police, and the three thugs got scared so they gave Franco one last kick each before fleeing, middle fingers raised at Federico.

Franco just lay there, almost frozen solid from the cold and the fact that he was just beaten up. He winced and recoiled when he felt hands on him.

“Shh, hey,” Federico said softly. “It’s me. It’s just me. What happened?”

“He said things,” Franco sobbed. He spat on the ground and saw some blood. “About me. About Isco.”

“Okay,” Federico whispered. “It’s okay. Forget it.”

“I didn’t hit him,” Franco continued sobbing. “I didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Federico said.

“He lied. He said all those things about Isco. He lied. Isco is so good, he’s so great, and they don’t know him, and they can’t say these things about him. I love him. I won’t let them say things about him.”

Federico sighed. He bundled Franco in his arms. “Hey. You’ll be fine. You’ll be just fine.”

And then Nicolas came dashing around the corner with a loud yell of, “What the fuck?”

Federico shushed him, so he came over and helped pull Franco to his feet. Franco pulled away from them, weakly, to do nothing except to direct a punch at the concrete wall, causing blood to gush out of his knuckle wound again. Franco didn’t feel the yell coming out of his mouth but he heard it echo between the alley walls.

Federico and Nicolas grabbed him again before he could do any more damage. Franco slung his arms over their shoulders and he just felt so weak his legs almost gave way under him. He felt drunk. This was the way he felt when he was drunk. But he _wasn’t_. Franco _wished_ he was drunk. At least then, he would have a legitimate excuse for feeling this way.

“Is anything broken?” he heard Nicolas ask. “Franco, did you break anything?”

Franco shook his head even though he honestly didn’t know. Everything hurt. Franco’s entire body hurt. He felt completely broken from top to toe.

He walked all slumped against his brothers as they found the car and gently pushed him into the backseat together with Federico.

“Hurts?” Federico whispered to Franco.

Franco nodded.

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” Franco mumbled into his shoulder. “Everything hurts.”

Federico sighed. The rest of the ride went on silently.

Federico and Nicolas ran a bath for Franco and tried to add some of his mint eucalyptus bath salts, but Franco stopped them. It reminded him too much of Isco. Which was fucking _ridiculous,_ because that was _Franco’s_ scent.

He stood in front of the mirror examining his face as the water ran. He looked like shit. Worse than shit, even. Which was just as well, because it matched how he felt. His left eye was all busted and half-open, a swollen red and blue bruise surrounding it. There was a little scratch on his chin. His arms, the sides of his abdomen, and his legs were all covered with brown bruises. But he could stand and move normally, so he guessed it was safe to say he hadn’t broken anything.

Franco stripped off all his clothes and stepped in the shower to wash himself off. Stark naked in front of his brothers, but Franco couldn’t give less fucks. He just rinsed all the dirt and blood off himself and climbed into the bath when it was ready, sliding down until only his head was left, resting on the ledge. Nicolas placed a warm washcloth over his eyes.

But Franco’s brothers didn’t leave. They just stood there watching Franco, and Franco would’ve normally been creeped the fuck out, but. That was normal Franco. This was not.

“Do you think he’ll try to drown himself?” Federico asked in a whisper directed at Nicolas.

“ _No,_ ” Nicolas whispered back. A _horrified_ whisper.

“Let’s stay here just in case.”

“That’s creepy.”

“We have no business dealing with creepy right now, Nico.”

So they just stood there and watched Franco, even though Franco literally did nothing except lay there and let the hot water remove all his aches. He knew it was impossible to drown himself. His reflexes would take over. Unless he tied a brick to his foot and jumped into a lake, or something.

Anyway, the water soon turned cold so Franco removed the towel from his face and pulled the plug. He waited for the water to drain and plugged it back in so he could refill the tub with hot water.

“You can go outside, you know,” Franco said. Nicolas was sitting on the closed toilet and Federico was behind him, leaning on the glass shower cubicle. “I’m not going to drown myself.”

Nicolas and Federico exchanged glances and reached a mutual, silent agreement. They didn’t move.

“You can talk to us,” Nicolas suggested.

Franco sighed. “Why don’t you two take turns to shower, and I’ll just lie here, and then when we’re all done we can go squeeze in bed together?”

And God, his brothers looked _elated_ at that suggestion. Well, half at it. The other half was just excitement at Franco speaking so much at once. They got up and went outside to get their stuff, and Federico returned first, a relieved look on his face when he saw that Franco hadn’t tried to drown himself. Franco just lounged around in the bath as his brothers showered, changing the water one more time when it turned cold.

Franco climbed out of the bath when his brothers were finished. He wiped himself dry, taking special care around the bruises – which, well, were _everywhere_ , so Franco just took general care. Nicolas helped him dress the wound on his face and the re-broken one on his hand. He applied some antiseptic on the nail marks on Franco’s palm, with Federico helping to hold him down when it stung. Then Franco put his clothes on, followed his brothers outside, and climbed into bed between them.

There was a long, awkward silence until Federico used his shoulder to nudge Franco’s. He smiled and raised his brows encouragingly when Franco turned to him.

Franco fiddled with the hangnail on his pointer finger. He ripped it out and it started to bleed.

“He’s amazing,” Franco whispered. “You know? He’s perfect. A godsend. An angel sent to me by whoever is up there. An angel I don’t deserve. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve him. He’s beautiful and kind and he doesn’t have a single bad bone in his body. I don’t understand why no one else has stuck by him before me. He’s perfect. And he’s so tiny I sometimes wonder how it all fits in him. The beauty and kindness and humility. The happiness, God, the utter _happiness_ he always radiates. The sensibility and maturity and all the wise shit he says. He’s so fucking amazing and I wish he knew. I wish he knew that I love him and I will always love him no matter what shitty people on the streets say about him.”

“Why are you so scared to tell him, then?” Nicolas asked.

“I don’t know,” Franco said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m a hypocrite, you know? I kept telling myself that I wanted this to be forever. I told myself every single day. When Isco told me that he thought our relationship was only temporary, I was so hurt. I genuinely wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But when the time came…when the time came for me to say it, I couldn’t. I _couldn’t say it_. And it just. It makes me think. You know? I’m a fucking hypocrite.”

“You aren’t,” Federico said. “Stop saying that. You’re scared. It’s different. You said you were aromantic. Or you thought you were aromantic.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’ve never liked anyone in your life. Romantically.”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s there, isn’t it?” Federico asked. “You’re scared.”

“But he’s already said it to me,” Franco said softly. “He told me he loved me. I have no reason to be scared of saying it. I don’t have to be scared that he doesn’t say it back to me.”

“There are different kinds of fear, Franco,” Nicolas sighed. “You aren’t afraid that he won’t say it back. You might have been before, when he told you it was temporary and whatever. But now that ship has long sailed. You’re scared because you’ve never felt this way, you’ve never been faced with a situation where you could actually _say_ these words, and you’ve never understood what saying these words would actually mean.”

“It’s all my fault,” Franco whispered, shutting his eyes. “I made him. I told him I just wanted to know where I stood in his eyes. I wanted to hear the truth. And I got it delivered to me and I couldn’t even respond. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have pushed him. He was trying so hard to keep it in because he knew I would get scared. That’s why he told me it was temporary. Because he knew I would be afraid if I thought too deep into it. He tried to keep things low key, so he told me it was temporary but now we both know it isn’t. He knew better than me and I shouldn’t have made all this happen.”

A long silence.

“Tell us how you and Isco got together,” Federico finally said, gently nudging Franco’s shoulder again.

“We met at Paulo and Alvaro’s press conference. You know that,” Franco started. He felt like he was going to cry halfway through so he made Federico pass him the tissue box. “But that wasn’t like, our official first meeting. We met way back in 2009 when I went to Spain. And then later at one of Paulo’s parties. That was just the first time we actually got to know each other.”

“Mmhmm,” Nicolas and Federico said in unison.

“And on that day – on that day we slept together,” Franco sobbed. “A couple times. And then we just. We became fuck buddies. It was supposed to be safe. Foolproof. I was aro and Isco was only romantic towards women. We weren’t supposed to fall for each other. That was what made our relationship work out so well. And we clicked so well. Nico, Fede, we clicked _so well._ Like two parts of the same machine. He was so fucking _annoying_ , but. But we clicked so well.

“And then we spent the entire summer together and I – I fell for him. I fell for him so fucking hard and so fucking slow, and fuck, I had no idea. I had no idea what was happening, Nico. Fede. I was so confused. I had never – I had never felt like this for anyone else. I was always – you know I was always just having sex with men. I never brought them home because they were never my boyfriends. You guys and mom and dad knew I was gay but I never dared to tell you I was aro.”

“Why?” Nicolas asked.

“I don’t know,” Franco said. “I just thought maybe you wouldn’t understand.”

“We do.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay,” Nicolas ruffled Franco’s hair. “Continue.”

“One day he just,” Franco shrugged. “He told me he liked me. Romantically. And I told him it wasn’t going to happen, and we had this. This tiny little fight but we worked it out, and I told him not to wait for me but he said I was the one. And I was just. I lost control. I was supposed to be aro. I’ve known that about myself since I was a teenager and suddenly I wasn’t. I was so scared. You know? I was so fucking scared because I liked Isco, I really liked him and I didn’t know where it was coming from.”

“Yeah, sounds like you, you’re stubborn as fuck,” Federico said lazily.

Franco managed to ignore him. “I didn’t believe it, you know? I didn’t believe this about myself. That I had been wrong. I was scared of all these feelings that were suddenly attacking me.”

“So how did you figure it out?”

“There’s like – I’m not aro. I mean, I am. I’m like, half-aro. There’s this spectrum.”

“You googled it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we’ll google it ourselves. Skip to the juicy parts.”

“So I went to find Isco and I told him I wanted to be with him. I told him I was scared, I was so scared of what I had gotten myself into by letting myself feel these feelings. And he told me we’d take it slow. As slow as I wanted. He told me I could be any kind of boyfriend I wanted. And I thought I was over it. I thought I was over being scared of what these dumb feelings would do to me. But I still am, you see? I’m still a coward and a piece of shit.”

“You need to stop saying that about yourself,” Nicolas said. He pushed Franco’s head so it leaned on his shoulder. “You know what I think?”

“What?” Franco asked.

“You don’t know what love is. You don’t know what it means to say ‘I love you.’”

Franco would’ve been offended had it not been the truth.

“What does it mean?” he asked. “Nico, tell me what love is.”

“It’s commitment,” Nicolas said thoughtfully. “Saying it is a form of commitment. If you want to be with that person for a long, long time. Are you afraid of committing to Isco?”

“I’m sure as hell not.”

“Love is…that flip your heart gives when you see that person,” Federico added. “When you’re happy to be with them no matter how short the meeting is. Love is devotion. Love is a lot of different things. You can’t describe it and everyone has a different meaning for it. How does Isco show he loves you?”

“In so many ways,” Franco said, not helping but to smile. “He always listens to what I have to say, what I want to say. He asks me about my day and about random space facts because he knows I love space. He makes time for me and reassures me when I don’t feel well. He puts in a whole fucking lot of effort to understand me.”

“And you want to be with him for a long time?”

“I want to be with him for a long time. The rest of my life.”

“So you aren’t afraid of commitment and you aren’t afraid that Isco won’t say it back to you,” Nicolas summarized. “So we’re left with one thing.”

“What is it?” Franco asked.

“You’re still afraid of your own feelings. You’re afraid of what admitting it will do to you. Because you still don’t know what it really means. It’s exactly like what you did before, when you had that fight with Isco because you couldn’t figure yourself out. Because the feelings were _there_ , Franco. You couldn’t do anything to deny it no matter how hard you tried. And so you didn’t. You accepted it and you let it be and you got your amazing boyfriend in return. And this time you have to do the same. You have to be brave again. Admitting it, saying it out loud – it won’t kill you, Franco. _It won’t kill you._ You have to get that. There is nothing stopping you except yourself. Sure, I get that you’re scared because you’ve never said it before and you’ve never felt this intense need to say it. But there’s no need to be afraid. You gotta learn some lessons from Isco, you know? You’ve got to just…just _live_.”

“You’re afraid that what you feel isn’t love,” Federico said suddenly. “You’re afraid because you can’t sort your feelings out. You don’t know what love is and you don’t know if these feelings you feel are because you’re in love. You think you are but you aren’t sure, and because you’re _you,_ this makes it impossible for you to say out loud. This is what I think. It’s a little harsh, but. But Franco. If you’re wondering if you love Isco, just _look at yourself_. You’re broken in a million different places because _you wanted to defend him_. And you did it without even _thinking,_ even though Isco _wasn’t there_ and wouldn’t even have _known_ that you’d done it _._ You could’ve walked away, Franco. The Franco I know would’ve closed up like a clam and walked away. The Franco I know would not have put himself in such a problematic situation. Sure, you defend your friends to hell and back. But not like _this_. I don’t think you’d ever do this for anyone else. This is how you define love for yourself, Franco. This is just one example that I’ve done for you. There are a million other ways you can do it.”

A long, long, _long_ silence.

Franco thought about it all. It certainly was a replica of the previous time, when he had refused to admit he’d had feelings for Isco. Franco was scared again. He was scared of how overwhelming these feelings were. The signs had always been there. The avoidance of thinking too much, of overanalyzing everything Isco said. The slowing down of everything around them whenever Isco was around, a transformation so sudden – and ironically, rapid – that it robbed Franco of his very being, robbed Franco of his ability to function. Sure, Franco knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Isco. But Franco had never actually connected that with _saying I love you._

“What do you guys think?” he asked his brothers. He had been so sure about it before but now he wasn’t. Because he suddenly thought there had to be a reason why he couldn’t say it out loud, and maybe that reason was that he didn’t really love Isco at all. “About me loving Isco?”

“You love him,” they said in unison.

“You don’t really know it because of the way you are,” Nicolas continued. “Because of the way you always have been. You have to know exactly what it is before you actually jump into it. You have to know exactly what it means. Even if you very obviously feel a certain way, like you do now. You refuse to put a label on it until you understand. And that’s why you’re scared. You’re one step behind, Franco. Because you’ve never felt this way before, you were aro, and that makes it even more difficult for you to understand this. You overthink too much, Franco. You're too obsessed about control. And it can be a good thing, but it can also be a bad thing. You’re one step behind but that doesn’t make it impossible for you."

“Yeah?” Franco mumbled, his voice thick. “But – but he thinks. He thinks I don’t love him back. And he thinks he’s wrong to love me. He thinks that just because I don’t love him back, he shouldn’t love me anymore.”

“How do you even know that?” Federico asked.

“I know _him_ ,” Franco said.

“Well,” Federico sighed, placing his arms under his head. “If he thinks that way, then he’s a super big idiot and doesn’t deserve your love.”

“Fuck you,” Franco said loudly, shoving Federico hard. Federico started laughing, which made Franco confused and even madder. “Shut the fuck up, Fede. Don’t you fucking say that about him. Take it back. Fede. Take it back.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back,” Federico said, managing to catch his balance so he wasn’t shoved off the bed by Franco. “I was just joking anyway, fuck you.”

“My baby brother’s in love,” Nicolas sang, hooking his arm in Franco’s and leaning on his shoulder, squashing Franco between him and Federico. “And everyone can tell except him.”

“My baby brother’s an idiot,” Federico joined in, in the same singsong tone. “And everyone can tell except him.”

“That’s incorrect,” Nicolas said. “Isco can’t tell. That’s why he’s in love with Franco.”

“Fuck off,” Franco said.

“Or maybe they’re both idiots, that’s why they’re both in love,” Federico suggested.

“Let’s go with that,” Nicolas agreed.

“I hate you two,” Franco said, wrapping his arms around their necks and hugging them close. “You’re my favourite people on earth.”

“Not Isco?”

“Okay, my second and third favourite.”

“But who’s your second and who’s your third?” Federico asked.

“Fuck off, I’m not answering that.”

And then the both of them started poking Franco in the sides, gently because of all his wounds but ticklish at the same time. Franco wriggled out from between them and curled up at the foot of the bed.

“What do I do now?” he asked.

“Tell him,” Nicolas said, like it was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “Now you know what it is. You can say it to him.”

“My phone’s wrecked. I can’t tell him.”

“You seriously want to tell him through the phone?” Federico asked. “That’s rude as fuck.”

“Well, what else am I gonna do?” Franco asked.

Nicolas and Federico looked at each other, and then at Franco, in disbelief.

“Go to Madrid,” Nicolas started slowly, like he was worried Franco didn’t get it.

“And tell him in person,” Federico finished.

“What the fuck,” Nicolas added. “We did not raise you like this, Franco Vazquez.”

“We’ll be your relationship consultants if you pay us,” Federico added.

“I’ll pay you in brotherhood,” Franco suggested.

Nicolas shoved his foot in Franco’s face, careful to avoid his black eye. It actually didn’t smell too bad.

“Hey,” Franco said, crawling back between his brothers and taking one pillow for himself. “Thank you.”

Nicolas smiled and ruffled Franco’s hair before leaning his head on Franco’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Federico asked, “At you and Isco’s wedding, who’ll be your best man?”

“Neither of you,” Franco said. He received a punch in the shoulder.

Franco fell asleep in his both his elder brothers’ warmth, convinced that everything was going to be okay.


	24. Being As In Love With You As I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends!  
> Sooo there's this thought that's been on my mind for a while: would you guys like a part 3 to this series? It's sort of like a combination of Paulo/Alvaro and Isco/Franco, set in the future (I...am leaving you to guess which years but HONESTLY, these 4 are dorks and there can only ever be two numbers/years that I would associate with them *wink*) and it'll be less focused on football and more on like, life in general. Anyway, it's not confirmed yet because I haven't started writing and I'd like to hear what you guys think of it first! Please please let me know, thank you and I hope you enjoy this chapter! ;)
> 
> Title is from No Scrubs by Bastille (originally from Angels by The xx).

Day three without Franco around. Isco woke up cold again.

He checked his phone. No message from Franco.

He sighed and got up to check on Junior. He braced himself for any impending questions about Franco. Surely enough, the first word that came out of Junior’s little mouth when he saw Isco was, “Vazquez?”

Isco smiled but didn’t answer. He took Junior to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change his diaper. He still had no energy or mood to sing his diaper song.

“Papa, Vazquez?” Junior asked again as Isco brought him to the living room and put him down on the couch.

“He’s not here,” Isco said, more harshly than he’d intended. “He won’t be here, he’ll never be here anymore, he’s never coming back, so stop asking about him, okay?”

Junior’s eyes widened, as did his lips, as he sat there staring up at Isco. Tears started pooling in his eyes as he grasped the hem of his tiny shirt.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Isco whispered, sitting down next to Junior and pulling Junior into his lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“Papa, Vazquez not coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Isco said, his voice trembling as he tried not to cry. “I really don’t know.”

“Papa I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You can ask as many questions as you want, okay? As many as you want.”

“Papa I miss Vazquez.”

“Me, too.”

“Is it because of me?” Junior asked. “Papa, Vazquez angry because of me?”

“No,” Isco whispered. He gently stroked Junior’s hair. “It’s not because of you. It has never been because of you. Don’t say that.”

“Papa I’m sorry. I love you papa.”

“I love you, too,” Isco smiled. “I’d make it right if I could. You know? You know papa wants to make it right.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll take you to see Vazquez as soon as it’s possible.”

Junior nodded. He flopped over Isco in a sloppy hug.

Isco briefly felt complete again.

After breakfast, he brought Junior out for some shopping before they were due to meet Sonia for their traditional New Year’s tea. They had it every year a few days before the New Year, the three of them together. Behind his birthday, it was Junior’s favourite day of the year.

Junior was so excited he skipped his afternoon nap altogether. Isco brought him to the mall where they were going to meet Sonia. They wandered into every shop Junior pointed to. Of course, they eventually ended up at the biggest toy store in the mall.

Isco followed behind Junior as he wandered down the aisles, distracted by every tiniest thing possible. He started with the soft toy aisle and picked up a huge yellow bear to accompany him in his travels. Then he lingered in the doll aisle for a few minutes looking at some Ken dolls. He soon lost interest but stayed way longer in the ball section, pointing at balls he couldn’t reach and demanding that Isco take them down for him. They all eventually ended up rolling away at the mercy of Junior’s feet.

He wasn’t so interested in the toy cars until he found a life-sized one which both he and his bear companion could fit into. He clambered into it and made Isco push him around the store. Isco did so gladly, ignoring all the glances he earned himself.

A couple of hours later it was time to go meet Sonia, so Isco brought Junior around to clean up the mess they’d made.

And that was when Junior saw the ball pit.

He rushed to it immediately, tiny sweaty hands on the glass. “Papa I wanna play,” he said, face pressed against the window.

“I’ll bring you here tomorrow, yeah?” Isco said, picking up the trail of toys Junior was leaving. “Now we have to go meet mama.”

“Papa I wanna _play_ ,” Junior repeated urgently.

“No,” Isco said, deciding that he wouldn’t spoil Junior. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“I wanna play _now_ ,” Junior said. “Me and bear wanna play.”

“I’ll get the bear for you but you’ll only get to play tomorrow. Okay?”

“No!” Junior yelled. “I wanna play!”

“Hey,” Isco gently turned Junior around. “We’re going to find mama and we’re going to drink nice tea and eat nice food, all three of us. You like that, don’t you? It’s your favourite day.”

“But I wanna play. Papa, I wanna play.”

“You’ll play tomorrow. I promise. Or we’ll come with mama later. But not now or we’ll be late for tea.”

“Nooooo,” Junior whined, struggling until he got away from Isco. He plopped his butt down on the floor and just started bawling. “Papa I wanna play.”

Isco was just. He didn’t get why Junior was throwing a tantrum. Junior was always a pleasant kid. He was always obedient and listened to what Isco told him. He knelt down next to Junior and wrapped his arms around Junior’s waist, tugging until Junior budged. “Come on, let’s go and pay for this bear.”

“No!” Junior shrieked. “No, no! Papa, you’re mean!”

“Don’t be like this,” Isco whispered, hoping he sounded soothing instead of flustered. He smoothened Junior’s hair. “Come on. Be good. We’ll be back before you know it.”

He tried to pick Junior up, but Junior struggled and kicked at Isco so Isco had to put him down again. He got up and waddled to the nearest pillar and clung onto it. “Papa I wanna stay here!” he demanded in a loud scream.

“No,” Isco said firmly. He was on the verge of tears. He could feel them pushing at the back of his eyes. “Why are you being like this?”

Junior started wailing loudly, and Isco just. He _didn’t know what to do_. He sat down on the ground and opened his arms towards Junior, but Junior didn’t move, just clung on to the wall and screamed unintelligibly at Isco. Isco felt his life slowly slipping out of his grasp. He felt like. He suddenly wished that Franco was around. Not only because he thought that Franco would be able to solve this problem, but also because Franco _made Isco feel safe._ But _Franco wasn’t there_. Junior was all Isco had and now even Junior was fucking annoyed at him. Isco was just. So helpless.

He didn’t know how long he sat there just trying to persuade Junior to leave and having Junior reject him over and over again. How long he spent telling Junior he loved Junior and trying to get Junior to stop behaving this way. How long he sat there just trying not to have a complete breakdown. How long he sat there thinking, just thinking, _why is it so difficult for anyone to love me?_ How long he wished that Franco was there to hold him and to hold Junior, that Franco was there because it would mean everything was okay.

But even if Isco hadn’t believed that wishes came true before, on that day he was given a reason to.

A swift shadow suddenly appeared in the aisle they were sitting at the end of. Isco thought it was just another passer-by, but it approached them quickly and scooped Junior up, and holy _fuck_ , Isco thought it was some fucking child abductor so he scrambled to his feet to snatch Junior back but –

But it was only Franco.

 _It was Franco_.

Isco blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Franco looked. He looked different. He looked thinner and more handsome and – well. He had a fucking huge bruise over his left eye and he was evidently trying to open it fully but also equally evidently failing.

 _I wish I was in the Bahamas,_ Isco thought, just for the fun of it. Just in case the whole wish thing was still happening. That wish didn’t come true.

Anyway, Junior’s ear-piercing cries slowly died down when he, too, realised that it was Franco. He pressed one of his hands into Franco’s bruised eye as the other hung off his side, still clutching the arm of his yellow bear. Franco cringed but didn’t get angry or let go. Instead, he smiled at Junior.

Junior dropped his bear and wrapped his arms around Franco’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Vazquez,” he sobbed softly.

“Hey, you,” Franco whispered. “How you doin’?”

“Vazquez,” Junior mumbled again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Franco said softly. His hand curled around Junior’s back, and fuck, it was so huge it covered his entire back. “Have you been good?”

“Papa don’t let me play.”

Franco gave Isco a brief, timid glance. “You listen to papa, okay?”

Junior gave a little whine. “No,” he said.

“Hey,” Franco said. “You be good.”

Junior fussed a little, so Franco picked up the yellow bear and dusted it off. He asked Junior if he wanted the bear. Junior nodded. Franco noted that it was a little dirty, so he brought Junior back to the soft toy aisle. Junior started crying again, more and more loudly the further they got from the ball pit, but Franco rocked him and shushed him and soon he got distracted by the bears and shut up altogether.

Franco dug another yellow bear out from way inside the shelf and handed it to Junior for inspection. Junior seemed happy with it. He started to smile and he gave Franco’s bruise another little slap. Franco used his thumb to wipe Junior’s cheeks. He had a big bandage around his right hand and a smaller one around his left. They had yellow antiseptic leaking through them.

Isco followed them to the cashier and tried to stop Franco from paying for the bear but found himself physically unable to speak. Part of him still thought he was dreaming. And another part of him was just. Just so _glad_ to see Franco. Because he _knew_ things were always going to be magically alright when Franco was around, and he had been _right_.

Franco brought Junior – and Isco – out to the pram parking area. He stood next to it and looked around for a few seconds before locating Junior’s pram. He turned to Isco when Isco stopped behind him.

His hand brushed against Isco’s forearm when he passed Junior back to Isco. It sent a shockwave, a sizzle through Isco’s veins. And Isco just couldn’t say anything. When he opened his mouth, nothing came out of it.

He finally understood how Franco felt three days ago.

They had a minute-long staring contest. All three of them. None of them said a single word. None of them knew _what_ to say.

“Um,” Franco suddenly said.

He didn’t continue. He just made that one random noise, paused for a moment, and then swiveled on his heel and walked hesitantly down the row of shops.

Isco watched him turn the corner and disappear. Junior stretched an arm out wordlessly in the same direction, and then let it fall by his side. He didn’t let go of his bear.

Isco suddenly felt so. So defeated. He didn’t know which he would’ve preferred – if Franco had stayed away, or if he had come to visit. Because sure, Isco was fucking overjoyed to see Franco. But it also reminded him that the both of them were going nowhere.

Junior’s hands landed on Isco’s eyes, like he was trying to tell Isco not to cry. His yellow bear had fallen into his pram. Isco couldn’t help but smile. Junior was so easily distracted and he’d forgiven Isco just like that, with a snap of his tiny fingers.

Isco put Junior in his pram and watched him get comfortable with his new toy. It was a squeeze, but Junior seemed to enjoy it. He started to push Junior towards the restaurant.

And then like, three seconds later, Franco appeared around the corner again.

He walked quickly back towards Isco and Junior, his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his sweater. He stopped in front of Isco.

“Uh,” he said, and Isco half thought he wasn’t continue to continue _again_ , and half thought that God, he would fucking _punch_ Franco in his other eye if he really didn’t continue. Fortunately, he did. “Can we talk? Do you, uh. Do you have time to talk?”

“I’m meeting Sonia,” Isco managed to croak. His hands were fucking _shaking_ so he put them in his jeans pockets. “Later?”

“Yeah,” Franco said softly, and Isco almost heard his soft sigh of relief. “Yeah. Later’s good.”

“Great.”

A short, tense silence.

Isco raised his hand, wanting to touch Franco’s big facial bruise. He wasn’t sure if he could. He wasn’t sure if Franco would let him. So he let his hand hover awkwardly over it for a while before dropping it to his side again. He took his cap off his own head and put it on Franco’s, yanking the rim downwards to cover the top half of his face. Only Franco, _only Franco_ would walk on the streets all battered and bruised without the slightest intention of covering it up. It broke Isco’s heart looking at him all beaten up, even though he didn’t know the reason why. Isco just. Isco wanted to take care of him and hug him and nurse him back to health. He wanted to tell Franco he loved him, again, and that he tried, he was trying so hard not to but he couldn’t stop loving Franco.

“You look like shit,” was what came out of his mouth instead.

“Haven’t I always?” Franco replied. Isco saw the corners of his mouth lift upward.

“True,” Isco said, and they lifted more.

Another short silence.  

“I’ll call you,” Isco suggested.

“I don’t have my phone,” Franco said. “I’ll, uh. I’ll be there at dinnertime? I’ll bring dinner. Yeah.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

A soft sigh from Franco, like this conversation was hurting him. Isco understood. Franco had never been good at these things.

“Um, thanks,” Isco said, gesturing towards Junior.

“Yeah,” Franco said.

“I’ll…see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. Have fun.”

“Mmhmm.”

Franco took the cap off his head and tried to put it on Isco’s. “You can have your cap back.”

“It’s not mine. It’s yours,” Isco said. He’d stolen it from Franco. Or, to put it nicely, _borrowed._ Actually, this wasn’t the only thing he’d borrowed. He’d borrowed so many things he’d lost count. Franco never seemed to mind.

Franco smiled knowingly and Isco was just so fucking relieved that he still understood. That he still knew Isco. That they still _knew each other_. He let Isco put the cap back on his head.

“Uh,” Franco said. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Isco said softly. He wanted to give Franco’s hand a squeeze, but he wasn’t sure which part of Franco was safe to touch. Before he could decide, Franco had slowly turned and started to walk away.

Isco could not get him out of his head for the rest of the day.

\------

Franco was embarrassed to say he spent a couple of hours trying to decide what to get for dinner.

He didn’t want to be stingy, but getting a nice meal and having it taken away would mean it would be cold and soggy. And Isco didn’t like Junior eating fast food; besides, Isco and Franco were sworn off fast food, anyway. To top it off, it wasn’t like Franco could just waltz into Isco’s house and use his kitchen to cook.

Franco settled with a chicken salad each for him and Isco, and dinosaur nuggets (and corn, just to balance it out) for Junior. He arrived at Isco’s doorstep at half past seven and stood there for a long while before having the guts to press the doorbell.

Isco opened the door so quickly Franco couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been standing behind it waiting all this while. It brought a smile to his face.

He invited Franco inside silently, with nothing but an inward gesture of the hand. Franco sat down on the couch, on one side of Junior. Isco sat on Junior’s other side.

Junior looked _delighted_ to see Franco. He lunged at Franco and clung on to him like a tiny leech, and Franco had to gently remove him multiple times before he finally managed to distract him by feeding him a spoonful of his buttered corn. Isco sat and watched the whole time, this unreadable expression on his face. He fed Junior the nuggets whenever Franco took a break to eat his salad. No one said a single word. Not even Junior, who made his feelings known simply by making random happy noises. He didn’t even ask about Franco’s bandages, just placed his tiny hands on them gently. Franco was glad that all the wounds on his arms and legs were covered by his clothes.

Between the three of them, dinner was done in a half-hour. Franco collected all the plastic containers and utensils and brought them into the kitchen to put in the special recycling bin that was gotten for Isco by none other than Franco himself. Franco was glad Isco still had it.

When he got outside again he saw Junior in Isco’s arms, smiling widely and happily. Isco was whispering softly to him, making his smile grow. He smooched Junior loudly on both cheeks, making Junior giggle. And Franco. Franco’s heart was so warm.

He watched Isco put Junior down in his play area in the corner of the living room, monitoring him until he settled down. He jumped a little when he turned around and saw Franco just staring at him creepily. He cleared his throat and went to sit down on the couch, off to one side, like he was waiting for Franco to do the same.

So Franco did, but he just. Just the close proximity to Isco. It made everything slow down again, it made Franco so nervous and restless and just wanting to wrap Isco in a hug without saying anything, just hug Isco forever and ever.

They sat there silently, hands on their respective thighs, and thighs inches apart. Franco could feel Isco’s warmth radiate towards him. This familiar, comforting warmth. Franco fiddled with the new hangnail on his thumb. He ripped it out but this time it didn’t bleed.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Isco said softly.

Franco turned to look at him but couldn’t do so for long because he felt like his heart was going to leap out his throat. He suddenly just. Just didn’t know what to say. He had a million things to say but he didn’t know how to put them into words. He didn’t know how to _start._ He turned back to his hands and found another hangnail.

“Franco,” Isco said, and. And just the sound. The sound of Franco’s name on Isco’s tongue was practically enough to melt Franco’s bones. “Why are you here?”

Franco turned to Isco again. The expression on his face had turned from unreadable to a little encouraging and fond. Like he wasn’t asking Franco impatiently because he wanted to get on with his life. But more like he really wanted to hear what Franco had to say.

And Franco knew he had to say it. Not because it was the only way it could make things right – _God,_ definitely not because of that – but because it was how Franco truly felt.

“Because – because I love you,” Franco whispered, managing to maintain eye contact for only a split second before having to squeeze his eyes shut and turn his face downwards. The feeling had hit him slowly and then all at once, hard, knocking all the breath out of Franco. And he realised, yet again, that _he loved Isco._ “Holy _shit_ , I love you.”

There was no response from Isco. Not even the tiniest squeak. Franco didn’t dare to open his eyes in fear of what he would see. What he would hear. He clenched his fists tightly in a futile attempt to stop his trembling hands. His palms started to sting again but Franco curled his hands more firmly closed, ignoring the pain.

He finally had the balls to open his eyes what seemed like eons later to see Isco just. Just staring at him, the unreadable expression back on his face.

“You don’t have to say that just because you think you should,” he half-whispered, half-mouthed.

“I am not,” Franco said, desperate. “I do, I really do, I truly feel this way and I’m sorry. Isco. I’m so sorry I was so scared. I’m sorry I pushed you and I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to say it back but I’ve thought about it, Alarcon, I’ve thought so hard and I do. I love you and I can’t deny it. I didn’t understand it so I couldn’t say it, just like before, when I couldn’t admit that I liked you. I want to be with you forever, Isco, I can’t stop thinking about being with you forever. I can’t imagine one day without you. When you told me that we were temporary, I was – I was so sad. It was just, I’ve never been sad at anything being temporary. Most things in my life just come and go. But you – I couldn’t just let you come and go and just be another thing. I _couldn’t._ And I didn’t understand that it meant I love you and that I should tell you. But now I do, I understand, and I can’t deny it because it’s the only thing I know.”

Isco went quiet again, his lips pressed into a straight line like he was trying not to cry. He held Franco’s gaze.

“I love you, Isco Alarcon,” Franco whispered, suddenly just. Just really, really frightened.

Isco reached over and placed one of his hands gently on Franco’s, like he was afraid he would hurt Franco. “You do?” he asked.

“I do.”

“You’re not just saying this…because I made you say it?”

“I’m not. You have to stop thinking that. You know that’s not how I am.”

Isco’s lips turned upwards in a smile as the bottom one trembled. The first tears fell from his eyes. He closed the gap between them on the couch and practically crawled into Franco’s lap, wrapping his arms tightly around Franco as Franco instinctively reciprocated.

“I love you too, Franco Vazquez.”

“Yeah?” Franco mumbled into the crook of Isco’s neck. He was. He felt like he couldn’t breathe despite the weight of the whole world having suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. Isco was hugging him so tightly he was almost pressing down on all of Franco’s unseen wounds, but what the fuck, Franco didn’t care. “You do? You still do?”

“Of course I still do,” Isco sobbed.

“Oh, my God,” Franco whispered. He felt the walls around him suddenly crumble, walls that he hadn’t even noticed were there. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Isco. “Oh, my God.”

“I tried. Franco, I tried. I tried to stop loving you but I can’t. I just. I kept trying because I thought you were never going to come back. And I thought – I thought that I had ruined it. And I tried to stop, Franco, I tried but I couldn’t, and –“

“Shhh, I’m sorry,” Franco said. He squeezed his eyes shut as his tears fell on Isco’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Franco curled his arms more tightly around Isco. “It’s not your fault.”

Isco went quiet for a few moments save for a few sobs wracking his body. His little hands slowly rubbed soothing circles in Franco’s back. “Say it again,” he finally said, softly.

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, the other one.”

Franco smiled. It wasn’t so difficult this time. “I love you,” he whispered.

And Isco started to cry all over again, and Franco didn’t know what to _do,_ so he peeled Isco off him and tried to wipe his tears as soon as they fell down his face. Which only made Isco start smiling and giggling softly along with his sobbing, and _God,_ he was so fucking _adorable_ and Franco had no fucking idea what he’d ever done to deserve him.

Isco hit Franco in the shoulder, though, when Franco started to laugh fondly. Right in the big bruise Franco had there. Franco tried not to wince but failed.

“Hurts?” Isco asked softly. Franco nodded. Isco gently placed his fingers in the corner of Franco’s facial bruise. He glanced downwards at the bandages on Franco’s hands. “Did you get into a fight?”

Franco shook his head. Isco stared at him until he opened up. “I got beaten up.”

“Why?”

Franco didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t want Isco to think that this was his fault again. Because it _wasn’t_.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said.

And Isco accepted that. He nodded and moved a little further back, off Franco’s lap, so he could take Franco’s hands. “And what happened to your hands?”

“I punched the wall.”

“Just once?”

“Many times.”

“And your palms?”

“I clenched my fists too hard.”

“Franco,” Isco whispered, and he sounded completely _heartbroken_. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Franco placed his less injured hand on Isco’s face. “Okay? Hey.”

“And –“ Isco gulped. “And the rest…of you? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Yeah, just,” Franco shrugged. “Just a little bit.”

“Can I see?”

Franco didn’t reply. If Isco saw how badly Franco was injured, he’d know that Franco had been lying when he said it was ‘just a little bit.’ Isco waited a while for a response, but when he didn’t get any, reached over and lifted the hem of Franco’s sweater – which Franco hadn’t taken off, for obvious reasons.

Franco grabbed his hand quickly. “Not here,” he said softly, glancing at Junior.

Isco’s expression turned worried, because come on, was it so bad that it would scare Junior? He got up and led Franco to the bedroom by one finger because he was scared to hurt Franco’s hand. He stood across from Franco, next to the bed, and waited as Franco shrugged off his sweater, revealing the first of his wounds, various sizes of brown splattered down his arms.

Isco cringed when he saw them. His hands clenched into fists around the hem of his own t-shirt. His eyes wandered up Franco’s arms, lingered briefly on Franco’s face, and settled on Franco’s waist as he lifted his t-shirt. His eyes followed it, greedily taking in every patch of skin it slowly revealed. His bottom lip started to tremble again.

Franco stood there, topless, waiting for Isco’s reaction. If he’d had a choice, he’d rather have not done this. He’d rather have not shown Isco at all. Honestly, Franco thought it wasn’t so bad. It was just a few huge ones that were in the process of fading from red to brown and other smaller ones that made everything look worse than it was. It was mostly from the impact of feet on the sides of his abdomen because he’d curled up on himself, and on his forearms that he’d used to shield his face. Sure, it hurt a little whenever Franco moved. But it would heal. Franco knew it would heal. He understood how bad it’d look to someone else, though.

He didn’t even think about taking off his jeans because seeing the bruises on his legs would just make things worse.

Isco took a step towards him, landing close enough for him to put his hands on Franco’s shoulders. He slowly moved them down Franco’s arms, gently caressing Franco’s skin. He reached Franco’s wrists and moved his hands to Franco’s waist, repeating the process back up Franco’s abdomen, his chest, all the way back to his shoulders. His hands had started to shake by then.

“Fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes as tears fell out of them.

“I’ll be fine,” Franco whispered back.

Isco pulled away, face tilted downwards at the ground. He backed away until he landed on the bed. He didn’t lift his head to look at Franco again.

“You lied,” he sobbed. “You said it was just a little bit.”

“It’s all gonna heal,” Franco said softly, sitting down next to him. “I’m going to be okay.”

“You _lied,_ ” Isco said again, reaching over and punching Franco in the middle of his chest, in the one place where there wasn’t any bruise. He continued raining soft frustrated punches on Franco. “Look at you. Fucking look at you, Franco. You’re not okay. You’re not okay so stop fucking insisting that you are, Franco, stop lying to me. You’re not okay and it’s all my fucking fault.”

“Hey,” Franco mumbled, trying to keep his own tears in. “I’m okay. Really. And it’s not your fault.”

“Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“So why did he beat you up?”

Franco shut his mouth. Of course, it still wasn’t Isco’s fault. But he couldn’t think of any way he could tell Isco without Isco thinking that it was.

“Just tell me, Franco,” Isco said desperately. “Please. Don’t keep things from me. Don’t lie to me.”

Franco shut his eyes and wrapped his hands around Isco’s as tightly as he could, no matter how much his palms started to sting. “I was walking and I bumped into this dude,” he started softly. “And I apologized but he wouldn’t let it go. And he said he recognized me, Franco Vazquez, and that he was happy that we were broken up because he hated gay people and he said that you were just making use of me and you ruined my life. And I told him to shut up, I told him to take it back, I told him never to say anything like that about you ever again. He laughed at me. He taunted me for being hung up over you. He told me to let go of him but I didn’t so he punched me in the face and he and his two friends dragged me into an alley and beat me up.”

“Fuck,” Isco breathed. He slid his hands out of Franco’s and crawled to the middle of the bed, away from Franco. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. You were trying to defend me.”

“ _It’s not your fault._ ”

“Stop fucking denying it, Franco!” Isco yelled. “Stop it!”

Then he just sat there having a fucking _breakdown_ , and his hands were shaking and his shoulders were shuddering and he was sobbing uncontrollably, and Franco. Franco didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do. He didn’t want Isco to blame himself. He didn’t want Isco to think that he had brought all of this on Franco. Because Isco was. Isco was the light of Franco’s life, he was Franco’s favourite person on earth and Franco would not _allow_ him to think otherwise.

“Alarcon,” Franco whispered. He crawled next to Isco and wrapped Isco in a sideways hug. Isco didn’t struggle, which was a relief. “Listen to me. Sure, the fight was about you. But it _wasn’t your fault_. These are two completely different things. You didn’t cause the fight. You didn’t make him hit me. It was about you but it wasn’t _because_ of you. He hit me because I’m gay.”

Isco tucked his head under Franco’s chin and grabbed on to Franco’s forearm with his hands. His tears plopped on Franco’s bruises. “Why didn’t you just walk away?” he sobbed. “Franco, why?”

“I couldn’t,” Franco said. “I wasn’t going to let them say all those things about you. Or even _think_ those things about you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Isco said, his voice so thick Franco could barely make the words out. He wrapped his arms around Franco’s waist. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” Franco smiled. Isco’s hair was. It had the most comforting scent in the universe.

Isco went quiet for a while like he was deciding whether he was going to forgive Franco. He eventually settled on doing so. “Thanks for trying to defend me,” he whispered.

“Always,” Franco pressed his lips on the top of Isco’s head. He was always going to make sure his annoying bean was safe.

“You’re gonna be okay?” Isco asked softly.

“Mmhmm,” Franco said.

“Your legs? Are your legs okay?” Isco asked, suddenly urgent. “Did you break anything?”

“I don’t think I’d be able to just waltz in here if I’d broken anything,” Franco pointed out.

“But like, are you like, bleeding internally or something?”

“Look, it’s been like, two nights,” Franco said. “And I’m still alive. I’m guessing I’m okay.”

Isco sighed. He pulled away and held Franco by the face, gently.

“I love you, idiot,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” Franco whispered back, just. Just so relieved that Isco was able to say it without any hesitation. That _he_ was able to say it without any hesitation himself. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re not going to be able to shake me off even if you try.”

Isco gave a tiny smile. “I’m not going to try.”

“I’m an old man. It’s time for me to settle. And I’m happy the person I get to settle with is you.”

Isco’s smile grew and Franco felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders for the second time that day. “Hey,” Isco said. “Do you think if I kiss you, maybe it’ll hurt less?”

Franco shrugged. “We could try,” he suggested.

Isco’s smile turned into a teethy grin. He stretched upwards a bit and pressed his lips softly against Franco’s. They were still a little bit squishy from all his sobbing, but they were as eager and loving as Franco remembered them. The only difference was that they tasted sweeter after Isco and Franco’s brief but painful separation. Isco even tilted his head the other way when he realised he was bumping Franco’s bruise with his nose. And Franco turned all soft inside, as squishy as Isco’s lips.

“I love you,” Franco whispered.

“I love you, too.”

“I feel like I can’t stop saying it.”

“No one’s stopping you. Say it a few more times.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever said I love you to?”

“Really? What about Sonia?”

Isco paused. “Sonia doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“We didn’t end up together.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t count.”

“Would you be mad if it counted?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, then you’re the second person.”

Franco smiled. He was contented being the second person, honestly. There was nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with even being like, the tenth person or whatever.

Franco put his shirt back on, and they went outside and found Junior half-asleep buried under his new yellow bear. Isco gave him a bath while Franco watched, and then brought him to his cot and tucked him in. The bear went in the armchair across the room.

“I should’ve let him play in the ball pit,” Isco said softly as they watched Junior fall back asleep.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to miss tea.”

“Sonia would’ve understood.”

“Yeah, but,” Isco shrugged. “Junior barely gets to spend any time with Sonia. I just wanted us to all spend some time together. And the ball pit had two-hour slots. That’s a long time. I know he really wanted to play, but. I don’t know. We can go to the ball pit anytime. It didn’t have to be today. I don’t want to spoil him.”

Franco smiled. “Yeah, you already spoil him too much.”

Isco chuckled lowly. “I told him we could go back tomorrow. Or next time.”

“Can I come with you?”

Isco’s face lit up as he turned to look at Franco. “Yeah? You wanna?”

“Mmhmm.”

Isco smiled and tiptoed a little to kiss Franco on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered.

It was silent for a while. The thoughtful look returned to Isco’s face, accompanied by mild regret.

“What?” Franco asked.

“It just makes me so sad to think of him crying. That I made him cry.”

“Hey,” Franco turned him around by the shoulders. He gently held Isco’s cheeks, by his jaw line. He gave it a squeeze. “That’s how kids learn.”

Isco’s hand landed on Franco’s cheek, on the injured side. His thumb slowly traced the border of Franco’s bruise. “You’re going to be such a great dad, Franco Vazquez.”

Franco smiled at him again. He thought – and he almost _said_ – that he wanted to be Junior’s dad. That he wanted to be a family with Isco. That in a way, Junior was already his kid.

But it was all just a whirlwind of thoughts that Franco couldn’t even put into a sentence yet, so he didn’t. He just kissed Isco softly and felt his heart go all gooey when Isco told him he loved him again.

Then Franco and Isco took a shower together, just. Just slipping back into normalcy smoothly. Franco was glad. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He stood still under the shower stream and let Isco gently scrub him clean, a pained expression on his face.

“I like having bruises,” Franco finally offered.

Isco gave him a ‘are you fucking crazy?’ stare. “Why the hell?”

“I don’t know. I like pressing on them and remembering that pain is a thing.”

“I could just hit you one time every single day and it’d do the same thing.”

“It’s different. Bruises are like. Like no matter how strong you are, you still crack. I like getting reminded of that. It keeps me grounded. And like, bruise pain is different from any other kind of pain.”

Isco shook his head with a laugh. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“You fell in love with fucking weird.”

Isco couldn’t deny that, so he tiptoed and kissed Franco gently.

They got out of the shower and wiped each other dry, Isco so gently avoiding all of Franco’s bruises that it was almost ticklish.

“I didn’t bring any clothes,” Franco said.

“I have some of your clothes,” Isco said, and Franco. Franco didn’t even bother to ask. Isco probably ‘borrowed’ them at some point. He watched as Isco left the bathroom completely naked and returned fully clothed and carrying a set of Franco’s clothes, complete with a long-sleeved tracksuit top just in case Franco felt like covering his arms.

“You need to stop stealing from me,” Franco remarked, putting all the clothes on. He even had underwear. “You even have my _underwear_. You _pervert_.”

“You keep leaving your stuff around,” Isco lied.

“Fuck you, I never leave my stuff around,” Franco said. He was the neatest person he knew. “You keep taking them from me.”

“Well, you never notice they’re gone.”

And okay, that was true.

It was silent as Isco sat Franco down on the closed toilet and found the first aid kit. He sat on the edge of the bath and started to apply antiseptic on Franco’s hand wounds, occasionally fruitlessly shushing Franco when Franco hissed or fidgeted, like Franco was just a disobedient child.

“So,” he said when he finally figured out that it was probably more useful to distract Franco with conversation. “You came here without extra clothes and without your phone.”

“Just myself,” Franco said. He hadn’t even packed. He hadn’t had any energy to. He only had one thing on his mind, which was to get to Isco.

“You actually got out of the house, got to the train station, hopped on a train and sat on it for three hours, and then went to the fucking mall, _all without your phone_.”

“Yeah.”

Isco started laughing softly. Franco asked him why he was laughing, but he only laughed even harder. He finally relented, though, and said, “I don’t understand how we are completely opposite and yet the same person at once.”

“Me neither,” Franco smiled.

“So did you forget your phone, or what?”

“It’s wrecked.”

“By the dudes?”

“No. I threw it at a wall and it broke.”

“Holy fuck, Franco.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m kinda scared one day you’ll throw me at a wall.”

“I won’t,” Franco said, suddenly afraid of what he’d made Isco think of him.

Isco laughed. “I know you won’t. I’m kidding. The only place you’ll throw me is the bed.”

“That’s right,” Franco smiled.

Isco put the antiseptic away and started to wrap Franco’s hands in fresh bandage, and Franco realised Isco had done a fantastic job at distracting Franco from the sting. Even from the huge one on his face which still had a small open cut that would bleed occasionally.

“So how’d you know I’d be at the mall?” Isco asked.

“I came here,” Franco said. “There was no one at home and Bubu kept barking at me. I remembered you telling me about the tea you always had with Sonia before the New Year, but I didn’t know if it was today. So I just went to the mall to try my luck, and I walked around and I saw the toy store and I thought maybe I’d get something for Junior. I didn’t know you’d be in there sitting on the ground and bawling like a child.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was so happy to see you.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” Isco smirked.

“Well, I was.”

“You know, I was just sitting there wishing you were there? I was literally just going, ‘I wish Franco was here,’ over and over and over again in my head. And then you appeared.”

“So you wished you were in the Maldives to test it out but it didn’t come true.”

“How the fuck did you even know that?” Isco asked, and Franco couldn’t help but laugh because he didn’t know how he knew that either. “Anyway, you’re close. I wished I was in the Bahamas.”

“Maldives and the Bahamas are not close at all.”

“Whatever. They’re both beachy and stuff.”

God, Franco was so fucking fond.

“Hey,” Franco said as Isco took his hand and led him back to bed. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

Isco shook his head. He lifted the sheets and gestured for Franco to get in. “I’m sorry I pushed you. And for getting mad at you. I’m sorry. For acting like an entitled brat.”

“You didn’t,” Franco gave Isco’s cheek a pinch. “So we good?”

“We’re very good.”

“It’s just, I thought,” Franco sighed as he shifted his head into a comfortable position. “When you cancelled the event. I thought it was over for good.”

“It was the other way around for me,” Isco said softly. “I thought it was over for good. So when my dad called to confirm the event, I just. I snapped. I told him to cancel it.”

“We’re still going to do it, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Isco said thoughtfully. “Well, if they ask. The whole world thinks we’re broken up.”

Franco turned on his side to face Isco. “Fuck them.”

“Let’s show them we aren’t so easily gotten rid of.”

And Franco was honestly exhausted but Isco wanted to take a photo for Instagram, so Franco let him. He made Franco hold the phone out as he climbed on Franco and draped himself over him. He asked Franco to snap a photo of him kissing Franco’s cheek.

The photo turned out closer than Franco had expected, and just a little shaky, but it seemed reasonable given that Franco’s hand was all busted. Franco was lying on his left side, on the side of his busted eye, and Isco was wrapped around him so tightly Franco had his chest turned a little towards the bed. The photo framed both their faces, cutting off the top of Franco’s hair and reaching just below Franco’s shoulders. Isco’s arm was curled around Franco’s face, framing it and covering most of Franco’s injured eye. Franco’s left hand was half under the pillow and half carelessly intertwined with Isco’s right hand. Isco’s other hand peeked over the top of Franco’s head, nestled softly in Franco’s hair. His lips were on Franco’s cheek and Franco – God, Franco didn’t even know what the fuck he was doing with his own face. He was grinning from ear to ear and his eyes were squeezed shut and his nose was all scrunched up and he looked so _happy. He was so happy_.

“I should go and be a professional photographer,” Franco said as Isco decided what to do with the photograph while still lying on top of Franco.

“I look like I’m attacking you,” was what Isco finally decided on.

“You’re attacking me with _lurrrrrrve,_ ” Franco cooed, pulling Isco off him and raining a few loud kisses on Isco’s face.

“So I am,” Isco said softly, with this little smile on his face.

And Franco was suddenly just. Just so _fond_. He watched Isco as he tried to decide which filter to use, ignoring Franco’s suggestion of going filter-free because he said Franco’s sleeve was riding up and his bruises could be seen and he didn’t even _ask_ Franco whether he’d mind people seeing them, just _knew_ Franco would rather not. And then he spent five more minutes trying to decide on a caption, and two of those five minutes was just spent scrolling through his emoji keyboard and trying to decide which coloured heart to put. God, Isco was such an idiot and Franco loved watching him when he thought he wasn’t being watched.

Isco finally posted the photo with the caption made up of just two emojis: a shooting star on a square blue background, and a yellow heart.

He passed the phone to Franco, asking if Franco wanted to post it on his account. Franco hadn’t even thought of that, but he obliged. He posted it with a home emoji and a red heart.

“Gross,” Isco said when he saw, imitating Franco’s accent.

Franco smiled. “Hey,” he said. “I missed you.”

“Me, too,” Isco whispered. He put his phone aside and snuggled up close to Franco, careful not to touch him too hard. “Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

“I’ll never leave you again,” Franco said obediently.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Franco said softly, everything suddenly rushing back to him at once. What he had _done._ He’d almost _lost Isco._ He felt tears prick the back of his eyes. “Can I still call you Alarcon?”

Isco smiled. He gently touched Franco’s uninjured cheek. “Yeah.”

“It’s just. It’s our thing. You know? I’ve always called you Alarcon. I like it. I like calling you Alarcon and –“

“Okay, yeah,” Isco shushed him. “Yeah. You can call me whatever you like. I only said that out of anger. Please don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

“I’m so sorry,” Franco sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Isco kissed Franco tenderly on the nose. “Please. I’m sorry, too.”

“It’s not your fault. Alarcon. It was never your fault and I want you to know this. I want you to know that – that I’m sorry for making you think that I’d leave you over something like this. I’m sorry that I made you think that loving me was wrong, that I didn’t love you back and that meant that you shouldn’t love me. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t keep anyone close, that everyone always ended up leaving you, that it’s difficult to love you. Because it _isn’t._ It isn’t. It’s so fucking easy to love you, Alarcon. I don’t understand why – why other people thought it was difficult. I don’t – I mean, _I_ fell in love with you. _Me_. And you are the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life, so I don’t ever want you to think otherwise. Okay? Alarcon. Promise me. Promise me you understand.”

“I promise,” Isco whispered. He shut his eyes and sighed. “Fuck you for reading my mind.”

“Fuck you for making me fall in love with you.”

Isco chuckled softly. He wiped Franco’s tears, and then his own. “I love you,” he mouthed.

“I love you, too.”

“I want you to know, too,” Isco started, holding on to Franco’s hand. “I was lying when I said I only saw us as temporary. Because I thought – the only thought on my mind was that I didn’t want you to be scared and run away. I didn’t want you to think that I was just going to tie you down for the rest of your life. I mean, that’s what I want. But I didn’t want you to think that just because you were with me, you had no other choice. Because…because this is your first relationship and you have so many other choices.”

“But I don’t want any other choice. I want you. I want to be tied down by you.”

“I know,” Isco smiled. “But I just. We were flying so high, Franco. It’s only been three months. We were going so fast and I just thought, part of me was just. I was scared you were going to be scared. And I see now that…that maybe you weren’t the one who was going to be scared. Maybe I was the one who was more afraid. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that. I shouldn’t have made you think that I didn’t love you. And I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you when you couldn’t say it back. Because – fuck, Franco. I know you. I knew you weren’t going to say it back because firstly, you weren’t ready, and secondly, you didn’t know what it meant. I’m sorry I got angry. Franco. I’m sorry.”

Franco shook his head. “We need to stop apologizing.”

“Yeah,” Isco agreed, smiling and crying at the same time. “But, just. We cool?”

“As cool as a block of ice.”

“Isn’t it strange?” Isco asked. “We’re opposites but the same. We know each other but…we also don’t.”

“But I love it this way,” Franco said softly. “Not any way else.”

And then Isco just lay there and gazed fondly at Franco, and Franco opened his arms for Isco to get closer so they could cuddle to sleep, but Isco was afraid he’d hurt Franco so he refused.

“It’s not going to hurt,” Franco said.

“I’m going to squash all your bruises.”

“Nothing hurts when I’m with you.”

A slow, slow smile appeared on Isco’s face. He gave Franco a gentle slap on his good cheek. “Cheesy fuck.”

“You better get over here right now because it’s all you’re gonna get.”

“Why?”

“I obviously can’t fuck for like, a month.”

“A _month?_ ” Isco repeated, his eyes widening. “Why?”

Franco gestured to all the bruises hidden under his clothes.

“Oh,” Isco said. He sounded utterly disappointed and Franco couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” Isco agreed. “Or maybe I’ll be gentle and we could –“

“No.”

“I’ll let you be on top.”

“No. That doesn’t even change anything. I’m always on top.”

“But I wanna –“

“No.”

“Fine.”

“So will you get over here or not?”

Isco obliged. He shimmied into Franco’s arms and gave a contented sigh as he pressed his cheek on Franco’s chest and let Franco roll on his back. “Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night,” Franco whispered back.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” Franco mouthed with his lips pressed on Isco’s temple.

That night, Franco had the most peaceful sleep he had ever had in all twenty seven years of his existence.

\------

Isco woke up with a jolt, feeling a little sweaty from the night’s sleep.

He found out a moment later that it was only because Franco was curled around him like a vine, arms and legs bolting Isco to the bed like if he hadn’t, Isco would somehow float away.

And Isco was just. Just suddenly so relieved that all of this wasn’t a dream. He gently placed one of his hands on Franco’s forearm. Franco was really here. _He was really here._

Isco slid Franco’s sleeve a little up his wrist. The bruises were still there, too, much to Isco’s dismay. So was the one on Franco’s face, which somehow looked even worse when Franco’s eyes were closed. It broke Isco’s heart. Isco swallowed the lump in his throat. He wished he could take away even half of Franco’s pain.

But Franco was here. Franco was _here_ and that was all Isco needed.

He gave Franco’s arm a soft squeeze. “I’m so happy you’re here,” he said, even though Franco was still asleep.

Or so he thought. As usual, Franco was just lying down with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, like a weirdo. A smile appeared on his face before he puckered his lips and made loud kissy noises at Isco.

Isco laughed. He pressed his lips on Franco’s. “Morning,” he breathed.

“Fuck, I forgot about the morning breath thing,” was Franco’s response.

“You literally asked for it,” Isco said. He got up and, seeing that it was almost nine, decided to go check on Junior.

“Hey,” Franco called lazily, eyes still closed, before Isco could get out of the room. “I was just kidding about the whole sex thing.”

“What?” Isco said. “Yeah? So we can fuck?”

“If you’re gentle.”

“I’m always gentle.”

“Pfft,” Franco snorted. “If you say so.”

Isco went over again and crawled on the bed to kiss Franco on the cheek. “I’m always gentle to my big, fragile, old man Franco Vazquez whom I know would do anything to protect me like I would for him.”

Franco smiled, contented. He waved his hand blindly in the air, in a gesture telling Isco to go get Junior.

Junior was already awake, so Isco brought him to the bed and put him between himself and Franco.

“Hi Vazquez,” was the first thing Junior said, sleepily but happily.

“Hi,” Franco whispered.

Junior snuggled up against Franco’s face for a second. Then he said, “Vazquez you stink.”

“I know,” Franco said sadly as Isco laughed. It was probably the antiseptic mixed with the scent of sleep.

“Vazquez you look weird.”

“I know.”

“Don’t be rude,” Isco said to Junior.

He was ignored by both Franco and Junior, who proceeded to have a conversation of their own. Junior did most of the talking, as usual. He updated Franco about all the happenings of the last few days – or at least, he tried. It was mostly just garbled sentences and unidentifiable words. He was grabbing on to both of Franco’s thumbs with his tiny fingers and just repeatedly lifting Franco’s hands. And Franco was really patient, nodding and smiling and peering up at Junior’s face and making approving noises.

“You missed me?” Franco asked when he could finally get a word in.

“Very miss you,” Junior said. He flopped over Franco’s face happily.

“I love you,” Isco whispered, half embarrassed to interrupt their moment but also half not caring because he felt like he had to say it right there and then.

“I love you,” Franco whispered back, peeking his head out from under Junior to give Isco a brief kiss.

“I love you,” Junior echoed.

Franco froze. He turned to Junior slowly, knowing that his statement was directed at Franco. Junior remained oblivious, his hands fidgeting with Franco’s curls, trying to straighten them. Franco turned back to Isco.

And Isco knew Franco couldn’t just say it. Even if it was just Junior. Even if Junior was just saying it as a passing remark or merely parroting Franco and Isco. Franco wasn’t used to this whole thing yet. Franco had just gotten acquainted with one kind of love. Franco was not yet ready for all the other kinds. And he looked. He looked so _frightened._ Isco could practically _hear_ the thoughts running through his mind, one after another, disorderly, pushing and shoving. _Do I love Junior? What does that mean? Have I ever felt the same way for Junior as I do for Isco? Is that weird? Is it supposed to be different? If I love Junior, does that mean I want him to be my son? What if I do? What would Isco think about that?_

Junior lifted himself to look at Franco when Franco didn’t reply. Then he turned to Isco when he realised Franco really wasn’t going to say anything, his little baby mouth slowly drooping sadly.

Isco blinked once at both Franco and Junior just there staring at him. He grabbed junior by the underarms and put Junior on his chest. He reached blindly for Franco’s hand and gave it a squeeze of encouragement.

“There are many different kinds of love,” Isco said softly as Franco watched nervously. “You know? The way you love papa and mama, the way you love your toys, the way you love ice cream, the way you love your new yellow bear. These are all different kinds of love. Like, like ice cream, right? There are many different flavours of ice cream. So there are many different flavours of love.”

Junior nodded.

“And some people learn them quickly, like you,” Isco smoothened Junior’s little messy curls on his head. “But some people need some time. It’s difficult to understand. It’s difficult to grasp…to get that there’s so many types of this one feeling. Imagine someone who’s…never eaten ice cream in their life. One day they get a scoop and you ask them if they like it but they don’t know because it’s their first time eating ice cream and they don’t know how ice cream is supposed to taste like. So they need time to get to know it. And then they need to do the same for all the other flavours of ice cream. They need time to learn all the flavours.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know, baby. As long as they’d like. We shouldn’t rush them.”

Junior turned to Franco, then back to Isco. “Vazquez?” he asked.

“He loves you,” Isco whispered, gently placing his finger on Junior’s chest, where his heart was. “Deep inside here, he loves you. He just doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know it yet. But I know. Vazquez only says what he knows he means. And he has to think about whether he means this, first, before he tells you. And one day he will. Okay?”

“Vazquez love me?” Junior asked. He turned to Franco for an answer. Franco afforded him a weak smile.

“Hey,” Isco said, turning Junior back to him. “When someone loves someone else, they don’t always have to say it. They can show you instead of saying it to you. When they do things for you, when they listen to you, when they try to understand you. When they take care of you and try to make you happy. When they smile at you and try to make you smile. Or when they kiss you. This is how they love you. They don’t always say it out loud. Some people do. Most of the people you know will tell you that they love you. But some people don’t. Some people show it by the way they act.”

Junior nodded slowly. He stared at Isco for a while, eyes wide open and wary.

Then he crawled off Isco and slowly towards Franco, and Isco could feel Franco hold his breath until Junior gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. Just one soft kiss. Then he flopped over Franco again and wrapped his tiny arms around Franco’s head. They barely made it around.

“I kiss Vazquez,” he announced. “’Cause I love Vazquez.”

Isco laughed. Junior obviously didn’t get the whole ‘not saying it out loud’ part of it. But anyway, Franco suddenly looked so fucking _relieved_ , relieved that Junior understood, that _Isco_ understood. He planted a few kisses on Junior’s cheeks, causing Junior to start giggling ecstatically.

“Vazquez kiss me because he love me!” he proclaimed.

God, Isco was so happy. _He was so fucking happy_. He didn’t think he’d ever been this happy in his life.

He moved closer and joined in their hug, jostling Junior a little and making him giggle again. He soon crawled off Franco’s head, allowing him to breathe. He found a comfortable little nook in between Isco and Franco’s abdomens and burrowed into it contentedly.

“Thank you,” Franco whispered to Isco, and he was looking at Isco with – with _awe._ With stupendous awe.

Isco smiled. He leaned in to kiss Franco, and this time Franco didn’t even cringe. “I get it now,” Isco said softly.

“I love you, Isco Alarcon.”

“I love you, too,” Isco whispered.

Franco went quiet, just started to smile fondly at Isco. He looked like he had tons to say but didn’t know how to say it. So he was just going to try to use his eyes and his hands to tell Isco.

Isco didn’t mind that. He spent the rest of the morning looking into Franco’s eyes, one fully open and the other less so, and holding Franco’s hands, one more thickly bandaged than the other. He listened to what Franco had to say. He listened to the universe as it echoed inside Franco’s beautiful mind.


	25. Do You Wanna Feel A Little Beautiful, Baby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps, some news!  
> Firstly, thank you guys so much for all your comments so far. I really appreciate all the support, it really keeps me going and it always makes me smile to read what you guys think. So thank you! Thank you also for your thoughts on part 3 - I will be going ahead to write it.
> 
> Secondly, on the note of that part 3: It may become a part 4 instead because I'm also thinking of a one-shot/mini-fic about the CL final where Paulo and Alvaro will face each other. That will come after the match and I hope you guys will like it :)
> 
> Thirdly, I'm sorry for these inconsistent updates. I'm trying to be more regular since I'm back but I'm going through some stuff and it's difficult for me to write but I'm trying my best. I promise, though, as usual, that there will be at least one update a week, for the rest of this one (I've extended it to 32) and also for the rest of the parts. Thank you all so much for understanding, idk what I'd do without you guys.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter :)
> 
> Title is from Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy.

Barely twenty-four hours later, Isco and Franco had their next fight.

And it was the lamest fight ever.

It was the day before New Year’s Eve. Franco woke up ready to return to Seville, thinking that Isco was preparing to leave for Málaga to be with his family. Isco was up earlier than him, as usual, but Franco mistakenly thought it was because he needed to pack.

“You need help packing?” Franco called lazily from bed.

“Packing for what?” Isco asked from the bathroom.

“Málaga.”

“What Málaga?”

“Aren’t you going back to Málaga?”

Isco’s head popped out from around the doorframe. “Why?”

“It’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow.”

“Yeah, uh,” Isco shrugged. “I thought I’d stay here with you.”

“Why?” it was Franco’s turn to ask.

“Why not?”

“I, uh,” Franco scratched the back of his head. It was the holiday season so he had been in a rush, and he didn’t have his phone, but he’d used Isco’s laptop, and. “I already bought a ticket back to Seville.”

“What?” Isco asked. A look of disappointment flashed across his face and Franco felt his heart shatter into pieces. He approached the bed and sat on it cautiously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you were going to Málaga.”

“I wanted – I wanted to spend New Year’s with you.”

Franco felt his shattered heart being stomped on. “But I – I thought –“

“It’s okay,” Isco said softly. “You, uh. You wanna be alone. That’s fine.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“Well, you sure don’t want to be with _me._ ”

“No, what the fuck,” Franco sat up in bed and moved closer to Isco. “It’s not that. I just. I don’t want you to spend all your time with me and leave your family out. I thought you’d like to spend time with your family.”

“Just go back to Seville, Franco,” Isco said without turning. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” Franco grabbed him by the forearm. “Alarcon. You don’t get it.”

“You don’t want to spend time with me.”

“I want you to spend time with _your family_.”

“What about you? Are you going to be with your family in Seville?”

Franco paused for a while. “No.”

“So why didn’t you think of coming to Málaga with me?” Isco asked, his voice raised a little but trembling. “Hmm? Then I’d get to spend time with you _and_ my family. You just – you don’t want to spend New Year’s with me. That’s just it.”

And Franco was, well. Franco was speechless. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t thought about that. And Franco was just so _ashamed_ of himself again. Ashamed that he couldn’t get this right. That he never seemed to be able to get anything right. He sat there, half behind Isco, and thought long and hard about it. Maybe he did subconsciously want to be alone. Maybe it was just a habit. Maybe it was because he was used to picking the option to be alone instead of self-inviting to other people’s events.

Isco sniffed a little before hurriedly using his palm to wipe his face, and Jesus _fuck_ , Franco had made Isco cry _again_ and Franco _hated himself_. “When’s your train?” Isco asked.

“I’ll cancel my ticket.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t want you here if you don’t want to be here.”

“Alarcon,” Franco whispered. He knew he had to make it right. He had to be the bigger person and admit he had been wrong. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Isco, not letting go even when Isco started to struggle. “I’m sorry. I read this whole thing wrong. I should have asked you and talked to you about it. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. Please. Let’s not fight about this.”

Much to his relief, Isco leaned into his arms and sighed. He was quiet for a while, though, which made Franco worried again.

“I’m not mad at you,” he finally said.

“You are, though,” Franco said, giving Isco’s nose a tiny boop. It made Isco smile and God, Franco wanted to collapse in relief.

“A little bit,” Isco confessed.

“I’ll stay here with you,” Franco said. “Or go to Málaga. Whichever you prefer.”

“You keep talking about my family, but what about yours?”

“They flew back to Argentina. Fede and Nico too, yesterday. I can’t make it there and back. They’ll understand.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Living in Europe has made me miss so many Christmases and New Years.”

“So you’re staying with me and Junior?”

“I am.”

“Thank you.”

“Shut up.”

Then Isco hugged him, hard, and Franco’s bruises were already healing but they still hurt a little, except it was the best kind of pain. The pain that was caused by being hugged by Isco.

“This is the lamest fight ever,” Isco remarked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away.”

“I didn’t mean to overreact.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I just,” Franco sighed. “I’m scared. I don’t wanna fight with you.”

“I know,” Isco whispered. He turned and wrapped his arms more tightly around Franco, in a full hug. “But Franco. We’re always going to have little fights. It’s what couples do. I don’t expect you to agree with everything I say and do. The most important thing is that we try to understand each other.”

Franco nodded. “But I don’t – how do I know if it’s a small fight or a big fight?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just. Just this period. Okay? We just…we just got back together. It’s…a little hard, I guess. But we just have to get through this. And we _will_ get through this. I promise. Okay, Franco? I promise we’ll get through this.”

Franco buried his nose in the crook of Isco’s neck. Strangely, Isco smelled the best right there. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” Isco’s hands ran little circles on Franco’s back. “I can’t wait to spend the New Year with you.”

“Just us three, warm and cozy?”

“That’s right. I already told my family and Sonia.”

“And they’re okay with it?”

“Very okay.”

Franco chuckled. “You sound like Junior.”

“ _He_ sounds like _me._ ”

“Are you being petty towards your son?” Franco poked him in the sides. “You’re being _petty_ towards your _son_.”

“Yeah, first he takes my name, then he takes my style,” Isco giggled, poking Franco back.

Their little tickle fight escalated into a making out session, the both of them half hanging off the side of the bed, Isco draped over Franco and Franco’s arm tightly around Isco’s waist, trapping him. They kissed lazily, sloppily, and it was wet and gross and Franco hadn’t even brushed his teeth yet but Isco just kept kissing him greedily like he didn’t even care.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Isco breathed to break the silence. He slid his hand under Franco’s t-shirt and let it wander. Franco cringed by accident, and Isco stopped. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No, no, I just,” Franco sighed loudly. “I’m just. I’m a little. Hard.”

“You little minx,” Isco whispered, moving his hand back down Franco’s abdomen and down – God, if it was down to where Franco thought it was, then good, but – only to stop right where the waistband of Franco’s pants started. He slid the tips of his fingers inside but didn’t move any further south, just left them there on Franco’s v-line. This evil, Cheshire cat-esque grin appeared on his face.

“Nooo,” Franco groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Quickie?” Isco suggested. “I’ll blow you.”

“No,” Franco groaned again. “I want our makeup sex to be fucking mind-blowing. Not a quickie.”

Isco laughed. He removed his hand and flopped over on his back and Franco was like, thank God. “My boyfriend’s a romantic,” Isco cooed.

“Quick, distract me,” Franco said.

Isco gave that a brief thought, then, “I guess it’s good we aren’t seeing our families this holiday.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure they’d be pleased to see you like this,” Isco gestured to the bruise on Franco’s face before touching it softly. “Actually, it’s getting a lot better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s like, greener now. And lighter.”

“So I’ll be back to my handsome self soon?”

Isco burst into laughter. “Mmhmm. And you can finally open your fucking eye.”

“My eye’s open,” Franco claimed, trying to open it wider.

“It isn’t.”

“Fuck, I’m going to look like this forever. My eye’s gonna be half open forever.”

“It’s okay,” Isco gave Franco’s cheek a pat. “I’ll love you even with your useless eye.”

Franco smiled happily at him. “I need to go brush my teeth.”

“Let’s lie here for a while. Junior hasn’t even yelled yet.”

So they just lay there for a while, silently, holding hands. The nail marks on Franco’s palm weren’t deep enough to stay open for more than two days, so he’d settled with taping some gauze to it. Isco was using his thumb to smoothen it, over and over again, a motion that was so soothing to Franco he almost fell right back asleep.

“Hey,” Isco finally said, shocking Franco awake again. He gave a little chuckle when Franco blinked a few times. “I know you don’t like me saying this, but. I’m sorry you got hit because of me.”

Franco shook his head. “It’s okay.”

“Next time, just walk away, okay? No matter what people say about me. You know I don’t care. You shouldn’t think so much about it, either. Just. Just please only believe it when it comes from me.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. And I love you for that. But you should know that I don’t care what the fuck they say and you shouldn’t give a fuck either, no matter what they try to tell you.”

“So, doesn’t matter what they say, you don’t want me to touch them?”

“That’s right.”

“What if they say, ‘Franco, I love you more than Isco does’?”

“Then you have my permission to punch them in the fucking face.”

Franco burst into laughter. “I promise I will.”

Another long, comfortable silence. Isco stopped fidgeting with Franco’s gauze and just settled with holding his hand. He made a few clicking noises with his tongue.

“Everything tastes gross after kissing you,” he said.

“Let’s go brush our teeth. You can brush yours again.”

So they went and collected Junior, and then all got into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror and brushed their teeth together, all three of them. Then they competed over who could spit their stream the furthest, and Junior won. He celebrated by happily slapping Franco and Isco’s cheeks with his wet hands.

Franco had never been happier in his life.

\------

On New Year’s Eve, they did nothing all day except to cuddle under a blanket on the couch in front of the TV. Junior tottered around the house, occasionally crawling under the blanket and popping his head up between Franco and Isco trying to surprise them. They pretended to be surprised each time.

Junior managed to stay up for the New Year countdown. It was the cutest thing ever because he dozed off three hours before midnight, and Franco brought him to his cot only to have him wake up fifteen minutes later and start yelling at them about not letting him watch the fireworks.

He fell asleep again at eleven, and the same thing happened.

Anyway, at midnight he was wide awake and screaming along with the countdown. Isco screamed along with him, but Franco just sat there smiling widely at them, like they were a better view than the one on TV. He obliged when Junior shifted one foot to his thigh so he was standing with one foot each on Isco and Franco. He wrapped his hand around Junior’s ankle and stuffed his nose into Junior’s shirt like he liked the smell of Junior.

It was all suddenly silent as they watched the fireworks on TV. Junior broke it by making little noises of approval, before asking, “Papa what year is it?”

“2017,” Isco said. Junior tried to repeat that and failed spectacularly.

And then he promptly fell asleep, sliding off from his standing position and into Isco’s lap. Franco laughed softly.

“I’ll take him inside,” Isco whispered. He put Junior over his shoulder and leaned in to kiss Franco, one big long kiss followed by smaller pecks. Franco laughed again and Isco felt so warm inside.

“Night, Vazquez,” Junior called sleepily, cheek pressed against Isco’s shoulder.

“Night,” Franco said fondly from behind them.

Isco tucked Junior comfortably in his cot and watched him slowly slip back into dreamland. He got carried away for a moment, just standing there watching his son. Thinking about how much he’d grown since the first day he’d come home as a tiny little sausage. His first word and his first steps. It was 2017. He was going to turn three years old. Soon he’d be off to university and Isco was going to be an old man sitting in a rocking chair next to his Franco talking about the last fifteen years and all the stars that had been born and died.

He was brought back to the present when Franco’s shadow appeared in the doorway, blocking out some of the hallway light. He was probably wondering why Isco was taking so long. Isco turned and Franco smiled. The blanket was still wrapped over his shoulders so he looked like a really tall sack of potatoes. A tall, warm, handsome sack of potatoes.

Franco walked over behind Isco and draped his arms over Isco’s shoulders so Isco was wrapped in the blanket as well. “Hi,” he whispered, gently kissing Isco’s temple.

“Hey, you,” Isco laughed softly. He turned his head and kissed Franco on the lips. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Franco smiled, his lips not leaving Isco’s. “I hope this year’s better than the last.”

“It’s hard to beat.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Isco turned his body so he was chest to chest with Franco while still being wrapped in the blanket. “Firstly, I met you.”

Franco chuckled. “You cheesy bastard.”

“It’s true.”

“Maybe this year you’ll meet someone better than me.”

“That’s impossible, Franco.”

Franco beamed. He didn’t look too sure, but he beamed. “Let’s go outside,” he whispered.

So they went back outside and snuggled on the couch again, watching a random programme on TV but not really paying much attention to it; instead playing with each other’s hands and hair and just making out lazily, trading soft giggles and random tickles.

“I love you,” Franco finally said to break their verbal silence. “Even though you still give me beard burns all the time.”

“Fuck you,” Isco laughed. “I love you.”

“Decide on one,” Franco said.

“I can do both. Watch me.”

“I can’t watch you. I’ll be too busy reaching the pinnacle of sexual pleasure.”

Isco gasped loudly. “You dirty, _dirty_ bastard.”

Franco burst into little giggles, which made Isco laugh again. He pressed himself more tightly against Franco and rested his head on Franco’s chest. Then it was silent for a while, Franco entertaining himself by running his fingers through Isco’s hair – which, by the way, was unbelievably long solely because Isco didn’t want to break Franco’s heart by chopping it all off – and Isco entertaining himself by trying not to fall asleep.

“It’s weird,” Franco suddenly said, shocking Isco fully awake again.

“What’s weird?” Isco asked. “Besides me. I know I’m weird.”

Franco laughed softly. “It’s just. Do you believe in astrology?”

“I don’t know. Do I? Tell me more about it.”

“So I read – don’t laugh at me, but I read that a Pisces and Taurus make a really good couple because they complement each other and their bond is karmic.”

“And how is that weird?” Isco asked. He didn’t laugh although he wanted to. It was _funny_. Franco actually _read_ about that. Which meant he actually went to _google_ whether he and Isco were _compatible._

“So we’re supposed to be opposites, and we complement each other,” Franco said, his hands still fidgeting in Isco’s hair, his voice resonating through his chest and in Isco’s head. “Which isn’t wrong or weird. The weird thing is that the Pisces is supposed to be the dreamer and the Taurus is the realist. The Pisces is supposed to be flexible and like, not really sure what they’re doing, just doing stuff by instinct. And the Taurus is supposed to be rooted and in control and really sure what they’re doing. So the Pisces seeks security with the Taurus because the Taurus doesn’t just let life lead them, they lead life where they want to.”

“But I’m the Taurus.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s weird. It’s the other way around.”

“I know.”

“Did you get your birthday wrong?”

“Did _you_ get your birthday wrong?”

“They got it wrong,” Isco concluded.

“But they got the compatibility right, though,” Franco said nervously. “Right?”

“Definitely,” Isco said, and he felt Franco relax. He ran his hand in soothing circles on Franco’s abdomen.

“You know,” Franco said softly. “I’ve never actually…spent New Year’s with someone?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve just been to, like, parties. Family ones. When I came to Europe, wilder ones with friends. Maybe sometimes I fucked a dude. But I always ended up alone, I went home alone and slept alone and woke up alone.”

“Well, this year you won’t get to do any of those.”

“I’ve never even – I don’t think I’ve ever had a New Year’s kiss.”

“You’ve already got one from me. You want another one?”

So he got another one.

“I like this,” Franco said. “Being with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s just…just so new to me. You know? I can’t help but worry that I screw up all the time.”

“You don’t have to,” Isco smiled. “You could never do anything that will make me love you any less.”

“I love you, Isco Alarcon.”

“I love you too, Franco Vazquez.”

“It’s nice and quiet,” Franco gave a soft, contented sigh. “I never thought it could be like this with you around.”

“Wow, fuck you.”

Franco laughed. “Parties were never my thing. I just never found a better option.”

“Hey,” Isco said. “I realised we barely spend any time alone. Just us two.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s always us and Junior.”

“You know, I wanted to say that? But I was scared that, like, you’d be mad or something.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because he’s your son and maybe you’d think I don’t like to spend time with him but I do.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Isco sat up, removing himself from Franco’s grasp. He held on to Franco’s hands. “Usually, relationships…don’t involve children. But you’ve dealt with Junior so well and I just. Yeah.”

Franco smiled. “I don’t see him as something to be worried about.”

“That’s because you’ve never had a relationship with someone who doesn’t have a child,” Isco said. He sighed. “Sometimes I…sometimes I feel like you’ll miss out on a lot of things because of me.”

Franco went completely silent and Isco got worried for a while. He sat there watching Franco nervously as Franco thought about it.

“Look,” he finally said, softly, lifting one of Isco’s hands and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “I truly don’t think I’m missing out on anything. Because if it were anyone else other than you, I wouldn’t feel this way at all. I wouldn’t have fallen for anyone else other than you. I’m really, really sure about that. So…so I’m not missing out on anything. I would be missing out on more things _without_ you, Alarcon.”

“Yeah?” Isco whispered. “You think so?”

“Mmhmm,” Franco smiled. “I mean, that doesn’t mean that aro people miss out on good things.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“It’s just. Sure, you could say aro people miss out on the joy of relationships. But you could also say that romantic people miss out on the joy of romantic freedom. You know? We miss out on things because of who we are. But that’s not the most important part. The most important part is the things that we _do_ get to experience because of who we are. And I get to experience…this. I get to experience _you_. And it’s…it’s the greatest joy of my life.”

Isco smiled. He felt tears pool in his eyes and he hated and loved Franco at the same time for always making him soft inside. He leaned into Franco and Franco automatically wrapped him in a hug, pulling Isco half into his lap. They were all tangled with the blanket but neither of them cared.

“I love you,” Isco whispered.

“I love you, too.”

“You’re the greatest joy of my life, too.”

Franco kissed Isco on the top of his head. He untangled the blanket and wrapped it over the both of them. Isco settled in his lap, thighs straddling Franco’s, head resting comfortably on Franco’s shoulder, like a baby bear. “Warm bean,” Franco said, making Isco smile.

“So…” Isco said into his shoulder, anxiously drawing circles in the fabric of the couch cover. “Would you prefer if Junior existed or if he didn’t exist?”

“I love it exactly the way it is right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t you ever worry about it.”

It was quiet for a while. Isco tucked his head more tightly into Franco’s shoulder. Franco wrapped his freakishly long arms more tightly around Isco, squeezing so hard that Isco could barely breathe but he didn’t care. He kissed Isco softly on the back of his head, through his thick curls. Then he gradually went completely still, his breaths slow and regular.

“Hey,” Isco said, and chuckled when Franco startled awake. “Franco.”

“Hmm?”

“We haven’t had sex since last year.”

Franco laughed and gave Isco a light slap on the back. “You’re so lame. That’s such an old joke.”

“But it’s true.”

Franco grabbed Isco’s ribs and tugged him out of the hug. He pressed his lips to Isco’s, soft and wet and open-mouthed. “Let’s change that,” he whispered.

So they had belated but absolutely mind-blowing makeup sex. Like, crazy amazing, back-breaking makeup sex.

Franco’s hands moved south to Isco’s ass, cupping it violently and pulling it hard towards him so Isco’s crotch was all wedged against Franco’s. He started grinding upwards to meet Isco, creating a rhythm which Isco followed until Franco hit the right spot. He gave a soft whimper of pleasure into Franco’s mouth, his open lips inviting Franco to prod his tongue further inside. Isco moved his hips quicker and Franco returned the whimper.

Their kisses got sloppier the more their hips rocked against each other’s. Soon they were just moaning into each other’s mouths, hands wandering up backs and necks and hair, Isco’s legs struggling for traction against the sofa seat and Franco’s thighs hardening with all the effort he was putting in keening upwards. The blanket was long gone, flung aside by a very humid and frustrated Franco. He spread his thighs wider, causing Isco’s thighs to open more; he slipped his fingers into Isco’s waistband and slowly down Isco’s butt crack, causing Isco to gasp and buckle against him.

“Let’s go inside,” Isco whispered, pulling away from Franco’s lips and observing the little string of spit that linked them to his. Franco kissed Isco again to get rid of it, and then licked his lips. “Fuck,” Isco said. Franco was. Franco was so _fucking hot_.

Franco sighed. He licked his lips again. Then he stood up, hands on Isco’s thighs to hold them tightly against him. He puckered his lips as an invitation for Isco to kiss them, and then when Isco obliged, led them blindly to the bedroom, managing to stub his toe on the corner of the dining table in the process and cursing right into Isco’s mouth.

He flung Isco on the bed once they got into the room, knocking all the breath out of Isco. His gaze locked onto Isco’s for one second before he got distracted with hooking his fingers in the waistband of Isco’s shorts and underwear and tugging them down his hips. His eyes darkened as Isco’s semi flopped over sideways, and he just. Franco just planted his hands on both sides of Isco, bent over, and ran the tip of his tongue gently over Isco’s entire length.

Isco’s hips twitched upwards as he gasped, and Franco caught them with one strong hand, pushing them back on the bed again. He muttered something towards Isco’s dick which Isco couldn’t really make out, and then he just. Just went for it, wrapped his lips around Isco’s length and sucked on it hard, sending a ripple of electricity up Isco’s spine.

Franco’s mouth worked like _magic_ , further wetting Isco’s cock with each time Franco bobbed his head, his tongue spreading his own spit along Isco’s length, mixed with Isco’s very increasingly rapidly leaking precome. He occasionally dipped his head to swirl his tongue around Isco’s hole. Isco threw his head back on the pillow multiple times but always found himself straining his neck to watch, little breathless whispers of “fuck, fuck, fuck,” escaping his lips – except he wasn’t even sure if he was just screaming it in his mind or if he was actually saying it out loud, that was how disoriented he was.

A string of spit-precome mixture hung from the edge of Franco’s lips as he finally pulled away to surface fully for air. It swung up and stuck to his bearded cheek as he gazed feverishly at Isco like he was wondering what the next move was.

Isco reached upwards and grabbed him by the face, using his thumb to gently nudge the liquid mixture into Franco’s mouth. He pulled Franco down to kiss him, and he asked, “You kiss your mother with this mouth?”

Franco smiled against his lips. He placed one hand on Isco’s cheek and deepened the kiss, his tongue searching the inside of Isco’s mouth for something neither of them was sure of. Franco straddled one of Isco’s thighs and humping it through his trousers, and _fuck,_ Isco could feel Franco’s fucking boner and it made him give this uncontrollable whimper right into Franco’s mouth. He would’ve been embarrassed, but. Isco had learnt that he had nothing to be embarrassed about around Franco.

He managed to push Franco off him and attempt to remove the remainder of all their clothes. Attempt, because Franco was very evidently doing a much better job at it. He was like a tornado ripping off all their clothing. He took off all of his own first before forcefully tugging Isco’s shirt off over his head, stopping only to grumble about what a gigantic head Isco had when it got stuck.

“My head’s not the only thing that’s gigantic,” Isco pointed out once he got his head free.

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco said. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Make me.”

So Franco pushed him back down again, hard, lips meeting his mid-air as he bounced back off the soft mattress. He climbed up Isco’s abdomen and straddled Isco, the tip of his dick nudging Isco’s chin. Isco opened his mouth and took it, and – and Franco gave this half-grunt, half-moan which made Isco’s dick fucking twitch.

Franco slowly slid his entire length into Isco’s mouth before pulling it out again, giving a little breathless murmur when he saw it being coated with Isco’s spit. He thrust himself into Isco’s mouth again, a little quicker, a little harder. One of his hands found Isco’s and intertwined their fingers; the other navigated its way into Isco’s hair, tugging and pushing to lead Isco’s lips. Isco placed his free hand on Franco’s abdomen, slowly moving downwards until his fingers framed Franco’s dick, then cupped the base of it, causing Franco to fidget.

Isco opened his eyes and saw Franco just. Just staring at him, hazily but fondly. His hand moved out of Isco’s hair, his thumb slowly running along Isco’s hairline before his sweaty palm briefly cupped Isco’s cheek. Then he removed his hand from Isco’s face altogether and placed it on Isco’s hand, taking it off his own dick and just. Just holding it gently in his hand. It was. It was a surprisingly tender move in the midst of all – well, given the fact that he was currently just fucking the hell out of Isco’s face.

He finally gave Isco a breath of fresh air when he slid himself out of Isco’s mouth. Isco licked all the precome off his lips as Franco just sat there, panting along with him, hands still holding on to Isco’s for dear life. And staring at Isco. Saying nothing, just staring.

“What?” Isco asked softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” Franco sighed. He let go of Isco’s hands and grabbed Isco’s big head. He shimmied down so he was face to face with Isco again, and he gave Isco a soft kiss on the lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “You’ve only just realised that?”

“Because you look even more beautiful with my dick in your mouth.”

“Fuck you,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder but didn’t manage to get him to peel his lips off Isco’s. “Fuck you, Vazquez.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Isco whispered. “You can’t call me beautiful.”

“Why?” Franco asked, finally removing himself from Isco and propping himself up on his elbows.

“Have you looked in the mirror?”

Franco smiled. He ducked his head to press his lips on Isco’s again, open and wet and knocking Isco’s breath out of him. “You’re the _most_ beautiful,” he said.

And Isco didn’t want to argue with that, firstly because he liked the sound of it, and secondly because it would mean that he had to take his mouth of Franco’s and Isco did not want to do that at all.

Franco continued frenching Isco for a while – which seemed like his favourite thing to do, Isco was beginning to realise – and he started humping Isco’s thigh again, like a horny puppy. Isco found himself strangely content with that. With the feeling of Franco’s rock hard dick just. Just flapping against Isco’s thigh. It seemed more – _erotic_ , dirtier than anything that came into Isco’s mind right then. So he just lay there, completely submissive, letting Franco frot all over him like he was a table. Letting Franco violently nibble a hickey into Isco’s neck. Letting Franco just do whatever the hell he wanted.

Franco’s lips travelled all over Isco’s body, like the ocean’s wave on the shore, sometimes violent, sometimes gentle. Like the soft breeze in summer, firm but forgiving. From Isco’s face to his neck, to his chest and abdomen, to his thighs and his hole, and then all the way back up again. Franco tasted all of it. And Franco liked it enough to do it again, over and over again, until Isco was just a hot, wet, melting mess, arching his back upwards so hard that it was actually beginning to get sore.

“Fuck, I could kiss you till I come,” Franco groaned softly when he had his lips on Isco’s again.

“Kiss me some more and I’m gonna.”

“You can’t. We’re supposed to do this all night long.”

Isco gave this long whine and Franco started laughing fondly. He draped himself over Isco, stuck his fingers into Isco’s mouth, and made Isco suck on them for a while. He lowered them between Isco’s legs, his gaze fixed intently on Isco’s face; he slowly, so _painfully slowly_ slid his middle finger into Isco’s hole, his mouth falling open, softly echoing the moan that Isco made. He did it a few more times, sliding his finger out and then in, stopping once to wet his fingers in his own mouth. He gobbled up the rest of Isco’s moans right out of his mouth.

When Isco was practically writhing around under Franco’s grasp, Franco suddenly grabbed Isco’s ankles and violently flipped him over. He ran one of his big, strong hands down Isco’s back, fingers caressing the bumps of Isco’s muscles, pushing gently so Isco was trapped against the bed. He paused to wet his fingers again, and slid them into Isco’s hole one last time.

“God, you’re so fucking hot, Francisco Alarcon,” he muttered before his tongue joined his fingers, licking the rim of Isco’s hole.

Isco gave a weak whimper in response. His dick was pressed against the mattress and Isco could feel a warm pool of precome forming on the sheets, and fuck, Isco could literally just come right then if he rubbed himself against the sheets the right way. Before he could start, though, Franco said, “Don’t you dare to fucking hump the bed.”

“Fuck you,” Isco gasped as Franco shoved his fingers all the way up into Isco to make his point. “Shit.”

“Fuck,” Franco whispered. He removed his fingers from Isco and gave Isco’s bum a little kiss. “Sorry.”

“No,” Isco said. He pressed his cheek harder into the pillow. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just. I can’t do this anymore. I’m so. I’m so fucking hard, fuck you, Franco Vazquez.”

“Yeah?” Franco’s lips curled up into a smile against Isco’s sensitized skin. They kissed a path up the middle of Isco’s back and landed on Isco’s face. Franco tried to kiss Isco on the lips but Isco turned his head away, convinced that if Franco so much as touched his lips to Isco’s, Isco would unravel. Franco laughed fondly and got off of Isco to open the bedside drawer, but. But that didn’t work either, because Isco wanted to _feel_ Franco on him, just – it was just a really complicated feeling. “Let me just get a cond–“

“Just fuck me raw,” Isco hissed.

Franco froze and only then did Isco realise the _enormity_ of what had just come out of his mouth. He shifted a little and Franco asked, “Yeah? You – yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He turned his head to the side again and shut his eyes. “Have you…ever?”

“Yeah,” Franco paused briefly. “I, uh, I went for my check. A couple weeks ago. We got our results at the same time –“

“Yeah, shit,” Isco sighed. He had never been fucked raw ever before, but. “Just. Fuck. Franco, if you don’t fucking put your fucking dick into me I’m going to fucking explode. I don’t get why the fuck that’s so hard for you to fucking _understand._ ”

Franco laughed softly. He leaned over Isco again and pressed his lips gently on Isco’s. “Okay,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Isco managed to say before Franco made him spit on Franco’s hand. He fidgeted around behind Isco for a while – retrospectively, Isco realised he must’ve been spreading the spit all over his dick or whatever, God, Isco was too fucking turned on to even think – before Isco gave another impatient whine.

“Okay, okay,” Franco muttered with another soft chuckle. He used his thighs to open Isco’s wider, and then slid his dick between Isco’s glutes, over his hole. Once, twice, and then gently nudging his tip against the entrance like he wanted Isco to get a feel of the width. Another kind, gentle move by Franco that Isco had experienced numerous times before but had never gotten used to.

“C’mon,” Isco tried to say, but his voice dragged out into a moderately-loud moan as Franco _finally_ slid into him slowly, filling him to the brim but just. Just still going until his entire length was inside Isco. “Shit,” Isco grasped a handful of the pillow under his face. He’d gotten so used to being fucked by Franco that just less than a week without him reduced Isco to this slobbering mess, his body straining to take Franco’s again.

Franco gently laid his body weight on Isco’s, thighs still holding Isco’s apart as he pressed his abdomen to Isco’s back. He wrapped his arms tightly around Isco’s waist and traced a line of kisses up the side of Isco’s neck. “If I’m hurting you, you _have_ to tell me, okay?”

Isco nodded and earned himself another kiss on the neck. But that was the last piece of affection Franco afforded him. He suddenly slid out of Isco and sat on his heels, grabbing Isco’s ankle and flipping him back over on his back. The look in his eyes had become more ominous than affectionate, his gaze now so dark that all the brown in his irises had disappeared. He crawled between Isco’s legs, nudging them apart again, and pushed himself back into Isco’s hole, hands-free. His hands were busy, anyway, pinning Isco’s wrists down on either side of his head before intertwining their fingers. Busy as his mouth was, breathing hot and heavy against Isco’s cheek, the sounds he made echoing after Isco’s own. Isco hooked his legs behind Franco’s, his heels softly scraping the back of Franco’s thighs. He felt Franco’s lips turn upwards against his cheek, and then leave it completely.

Isco opened his eyes and saw Franco staring at him, just _staring_ , the expression in his eyes unreadable. Isco tried to hold his gaze. The rest of the room faded away – mostly because Franco’s face was so close to Isco’s, but also because, well. Because everything else always faded away around Franco, anyway. Franco’s gaze gradually softened as Isco’s held it, his body jerking with every thrust Franco gave, slowly increasing in speed until Isco felt like he was being stabbed in the back over and over and over again except that – except that it was a really good kind of stabbing, the feeling of Franco just _inside_ him, hitting that sweet spot every time. Franco could’ve broken Isco into two and Isco wouldn’t have given fucks of any kind.

He finally broke eye contact to close his eyes and pucker his lips for a kiss, because well, it wasn’t exactly like he could just reach up and grab Franco because Franco was holding him down – and it was super fucking hot, but that was beside the point. Franco obliged with an adoring laugh, his lips landing more softly on Isco’s than any other part of him was landing on any other part of Isco. He frenched the words ‘I love you’ into Isco’s mouth, and Isco – God, Isco couldn’t even respond properly except to give a little whimper. He felt his entire body burning up, starting from his groin area, the flames spreading uncontrollably through all his bones. The strange thing was, Isco didn’t want this burning to end. He wanted to keep this flame alive, keep it alive and burning like he knew his flame of love for Franco would always be.

That burning turned out to physically stand for something, because apparently Isco was just fucking leaking precome all over himself. More than that, he was actually so fucking close he was _shaking_ under Franco, hands struggling under Franco’s grasp.

Much to Isco’s surprise, Franco actually obliged and let go of Isco’s hands, and – _fuck_ , he actually fucking _pulled out_ of Isco altogether, leaving Isco emptier than before despite being so close to orgasm just mere seconds earlier. Isco hadn’t even realised he’d been straining upwards until he collapsed on the bed, exhausted but still aching for more. He gave a little groan and reached for Franco’s hand.

“Shh, shh,” Franco whispered, giving Isco’s hand a brief squeeze before putting it down. He flipped Isco over on his chest again, violently, so Isco landed all shaken up.

“I was gonna come,” Isco whined, getting into a crouching position, butt pushed backwards towards Franco.

“I know,” Franco said with a mischievous smile. “I know, baby.”

“Fuck you, Vazquez.”

Franco’s smile turned into a laugh. He spat on his hand again for lubrication and then placed himself at Isco’s entrance. “I won’t do it again. Promise.”

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me,” Isco said.

“You’re so whiny and I love you.”

Isco melted a little inside. He held his breath as Franco gently slid into him again and then got back in the same position as before, hugging Isco from behind, cheek resting in the middle of Isco’s back, between his shoulder blades. His arms curled around Isco’s waist, one to hug him firmly and the other so he could wrap his fingers around Isco’s dick. Isco gave a shudder.

And Franco. Franco began to thrust, hard, jamming Isco’s face further and further into the pillow each time. Isco’s fingers tightened around the sheets – not because it hurt but because, fuck. Because Franco had _never_ been this rough with Isco and _God,_ Isco loved it. Isco wanted him to be this way more often. All the fucking time. Isco wanted Franco to _ruin him_.

Isco put his hand on Franco’s, the one resting on Isco’s tummy. He pulled Franco’s arm more tightly around himself and let his body rock with Franco’s, like they were doing a tango to a rhythm only the both of them could hear. He felt Franco give a soft sigh against Isco’s skin, his breath causing a ripple on Isco’s back. His lips landed softly on Isco’s back.

“You gonna come?” he asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m so fucking close, Alarcon. Alarcon. You feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah? You like fucking me like that?”

“I love fucking you. I fucking love you. Fuck, I can’t even get my words right.”

Isco turned his neck and strained to get his lips on Franco’s. They both gave a little coordinated moan.

And then Isco. Isco felt his insides suddenly being filled by something warm and sticky, and Franco cursed again before hurriedly pulling out of Isco and Isco realised that Franco had come inside him. Franco let go of Isco and knelt over him, jerking himself off quickly and breathlessly, letting the rest of his come land on Isco’s back in little ticklish splashes. Isco tried to get up and help him, but he was only shoved back down by Franco, so he just lay there and took it, took all of Franco’s come on his bare back, because holy fuck, this was so fucking hot.

Isco started to grind into the bed to give his hardness some comfort, but even in the throes of his orgasm Franco was adamant on denying Isco of his own. He bent over and licked his own come off Isco’s back, making a wet trail with the tip of his tongue all the way up to the back of Isco’s neck. Then he wrapped his arms around Isco and hoisted him upright, his back to Franco’s front again, so he had no choice but to stop humping the bed. Franco rubbed his dick in between Isco’s butt cheeks, over his hole, shuddering as the very last of his orgasm left his body.

“God, you’re so hot,” he murmured warmly against Isco’s neck. “You’re so hot.”

“It’s my turn,” Isco reminded him. The whole orgasm denial thing was hot but Isco had had enough of it for the day.

Franco gave an approving grunt. He gently shoved Isco back on the bed and asked him to lie on his back because Franco was evidently too exhausted to haul Isco around again. Isco did so obediently and watched eagerly as Franco lumbered his way between Isco’s legs, crouching between Isco’s thighs. He wrapped his arms around them and went for it again, his lips soft and moist over the tip of Isco’s dick, slowly lowering them all the way with the help of Isco lifting his hips off the bed. He repeated the motion, up to suck hard on Isco’s tip again, and then back down until Isco almost hit the back of his throat.

Isco was a little ashamed to say that this was all it took. It was all it took for Isco to just come apart at the seams, a loud, weird, inhumane sound escaping his lips. He struggled to grasp something and eventually ended up grasping Franco’s hair, holding but not guiding, feeling Franco’s head continue to bob up and down as he followed Isco’s spasming hips to lick all the come off his dick and abdomen. And Isco was tired, he was so fucking exhausted but his hips just could _not_ stop moving, could not stop riding his orgasm out against the humid air, against Franco’s tongue, against Franco’s hand.

He was still shaking when he finally stopped. When the world gradually stopped spinning around him. He searched the room hazily and found Franco still lying there at his thighs, cheek leaning on one of them and gazing up at Isco with this thoroughly affectionate look in his eyes. They crinkled into a loving smile when they met Isco’s.

“Come up here,” Isco whispered.

Franco obliged once again. He sluggishly climbed his way up Isco’s body and collapsed on him, lips forming the words for like, the fifth time of the night against Isco’s jaw, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Isco sighed. They were both sweaty and sticky and gross but Isco would gladly let Franco rub himself all over him. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Definitely,” Franco said wholeheartedly. He lifted his head to smile at Isco, and his bruise had faded a whole lot over the past few days and it was just a mild green ring around his eye, and Isco was so glad. He gave it a soft kiss and Franco smiled bigger.

Then he rolled over and pulled Isco on top of him in a sloppy hug. He kissed Isco on the lips before pressing Isco’s face into his shoulder. “God, Isco Alarcon, you’re so hot. I’m still. I’m still thinking about it. How you’re so fucking hot.”

“Shut up,” Isco laughed. He felt a blush creep up his neck. “Hey, you know what I was most upset about when we became a couple for real?”

“What?”

“That I couldn’t say ‘you only like me for my body’ anymore.”

Franco burst into adorable laughter. “Well, that’s very true. I like you for your stupid big head, too.”

Isco sighed. He ran his hand in circles on Franco’s chest, smearing the leftover sweat around. “You’re so hot too, Franco Vazquez, you’re so. So good-looking and _tall_ and I could, like, climb you all day long.”

“All day long?” Franco said, his lips curved in a smile as they rested on Isco’s forehead.

“Mmhmm. All day long.”

“Fuck, are we seriously flirting with each other after sex? Is this what we’ve come to now?”

“I could flirt with you all day long, too. I like seeing you all squirmy.”

“Fuck you,” Franco said, but fondly. He gave Isco’s shoulder a gentle smack.

Silence for a while as they caught their breaths again. Isco tucked his head more tightly into Franco’s shoulder. Franco helped him by resting his chin on top of Isco’s head. Isco settled his body on top of Franco’s, one of his thighs wedged in between Franco’s legs, finding the nook that he fit in so well. It sounded gross but – but even the feeling of their flaccid dicks just clanking against each other didn’t feel disgusting. They just. They just settled. Everything settled.

“Hey,” Isco finally whispered. “Franco.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Franco gave a little chuckle and wrapped his arm more tightly around Isco. “Me, neither.”

“Can we break up a few more times, though? So we can have amazing makeup sex like this time.”

“Shut the fuck up. We can have amazing sex even without breaking up.”

“Yeah,” Isco said thoughtfully. “You know, since we fight so much anyway. It makes everything…hotter. You know?”

“What a romantic. My boyfriend’s a romantic. _You_ kiss _your_ mother with this mouth?”

“Shut up.”

“Never.”

“You know, the adults were right,” Isco said. “Sex _is_ more fun when you do it with someone you love.”

“Sex is fun no matter what or who,” Franco said, deadpan.

“Wow, okay,” Isco slapped him on the chest. “Okay, fine. You wound me, Vazquez.”

“It’s _making love_ that’s different,” Franco said, trying to stifle his laughter when Isco just stared at him like he’d just said something crazy. Which, well. It _did_ sound a little cheesy. Making love.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” Isco climbed on him and poked him on the cheeks repeatedly. He felt his face start burning and he _knew_ he was blushing. And he also knew that Franco wasn’t just teasing, he was telling the truth, but he couldn’t help but tease Franco back. “You’re gross, Franco Vazquez.”

“We _made love_.”

“Shut _up_.”

“ _Making love_ is more fun than _sex_.”

And he wouldn’t shut up so their little cuddling session turned into a tickle fight, and Franco couldn’t stop giggling and it was the best sound in the universe.

The adrenaline soon wore off, though, and they both found themselves slipping rapidly asleep. Isco ahead of Franco, as usual, but he was only rudely awoken by Franco nudging him hard, telling him they had to shower first because of the whole condomless thing.

Neither of them wanted to move from where they were, but they knew it was something they had to do, so they got up and whined their way to the bathroom in an exhausted heap. They rinsed themselves clean in the shower before Franco sat on the ground and helped wash Isco’s butthole clean, even sliding his soap-covered finger inside to make sure. And Isco just. Just watched him from above. He looked like an angel. Franco Vazquez looked like a fucking angel. He was the purest human on earth and he was _Isco’s_ and Isco wanted to build a bubble around him and protect him forever.

But anyway, he got too lazy to stand up so he just sat there on the ground sighing and grumbling. Isco joined him, sitting next to him and leaning on him, feeling the warm water pelt on their skin comfortably. They almost fell asleep right there but then Franco started whining _again_ about how they were wasting water and _God_ , he was such a _nag_ and Isco had no choice but to get up and turn everything off and dry the both of them. He wanted to just crawl into bed naked, but Franco made him put on pants because he wanted to cuddle and didn’t want his dick all smooshed up against Isco’s naked butt.

They got into bed with Franco behind Isco, wrapping him up in the straightjacket position again to support his neck. He gave Isco a few loud kisses all over his face. “Night, Alarcon.”

“Night,” Isco smiled. “Happy New Year.”

“Very happy,” Franco said, and then, for the first time Isco remembered – he fell asleep before Isco did.

Isco spent a few minutes trying to get rid of the squirmy, warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest before he realised that he didn’t want it gone. He fell asleep with a big smile on his face even though his cheeks were hurting from how much smiling he’d already done that entire day thanks solely to Franco’s presence.

\------

On the third day of 2017, one day before the Copa del Rey match between Real Madrid and Sevilla, Isco and Franco brought Junior to the ball pit.

Franco was excused from training, being suspended and all, so he stood in as Junior’s babysitter. He brought Junior to meet Isco after Isco’s training, and they all headed to the mall together. Junior had no idea what they were at the mall for, which was the biggest beauty of it all because he got super excited when they walked into the toy store and to the ball pit at the back.

“Vazquez!” he screamed, ecstatic. He wrapped his chubby arms tightly around Franco’s neck. “Vazquez bring me to play!”

Franco laughed. “I’m the good dad now.”

Only after he’d said that did he realise what it meant. He turned hesitantly to Isco, hoping he wouldn’t, like, freak out or whatever.

Thankfully, Isco didn’t pay too much special attention to what Franco had said. He rolled his eyes playfully. “Whatever,” he said.

Franco realised he should never have been worried.

“Papa wanted to take you here,” he told Junior. “It was papa’s idea.”

“Yeah? Papa?” Junior asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Papa!” Junior screeched, and leaned so far out of Franco’s arms to reach Isco that he almost fell out of them.

Franco passed him over to Isco and watched as he eagerly slapped Isco’s face while Isco tried to register them for a two-hour slot. He hugged Isco and kissed his nose and distracted Isco in every way possible, but Isco was quiet and patient and soft and he shushed Junior but didn’t get angry when Junior wouldn’t keep still. He even read out the entire registration form just to try and appease him. Which worked, actually. To some extent.

Franco just stood at the side and. And admired. He couldn’t think of any other word to describe what he was doing. Junior was a pleasant kid but that was because Isco was an even more pleasant dad. He was strict when he was required to be, he taught Junior fucking life lessons even though Junior was barely two and a half, and he never, ever hit Junior, no matter how playful or disrespectful Junior was being. He was a wonderful father even if he didn’t know it himself.

Isco turned around when he was done, and smiled at Franco when he saw Franco watching. Franco’s insides turned to goo.

“We have a little pit to ourselves for two hours,” Isco said, taking Franco’s hand and leading him inside.

“Uh,” Franco said. “I’m – for me, too?”

“Yeah,” Isco said matter-of-factly.

“I thought I’d just,” Franco said lamely, shrugging. “Wait outside.”

“Come in with us,” Isco said softly. He gave Franco’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah, Vazquez come with us!” Junior chimed in.

“Okay, yeah,” Franco laughed. He gave Junior’s cheek a kiss, followed by Isco’s lips.

And then they got inside and Franco was suddenly three years old again, every single worry of his quickly melting into the background. He watched Junior dive straight into the pit, and then Isco following him, and Franco’s limbs were too long to exactly _dive_ in so he climbed in gingerly and was fondly laughed at by his Alarcons.

Junior got into the rhythm quickly, burrowing his way into the multicoloured balls and reappearing on the other side of the pit with a flourish. He invited Franco and Isco to catch him, like a hyperactive game of hide and seek, and they accepted the challenge. Of course, each time, they pretended not to notice the little bump making its way across the pit between or behind them. They pretended to be too slow to catch it. And each time, Junior burst out from the sea of balls with a loud happy squeal, arms in the air in victory, a big toothy smile on his face.

And then Isco took his phone and tried to take a video of them, only to have Junior fling a ball and hit him in the face, causing him to yelp. Franco started laughing too, and Junior decided Franco would be his next target so he hit Franco on the forehead with a green ball.

What ensued was the gentlest ball pit fight _ever_. Mostly because Isco and Franco wanted to dump balls at Junior but couldn’t bear to throw them too hard; but also because Junior could only launch the balls at a certain speed given his tiny attributes. Isco and Franco ended up just having the ball fight between themselves while Junior watched, giggling ecstatically and clapping his hands to egg them on. He completely lost it when Franco just scooped up an armful of balls and flung them towards Isco, and he collapsed and sunk into the pit with all his breathless laughter.

He popped up a moment later between Franco and Isco, with a ball in each hand. He passed the red one to Franco and the blue one to Isco. “No more fighting,” he said.

“You’re the one who started it,” Franco said, grabbing him and squeezing him tightly against himself. “Weren’t you? Hmm? You naughty little gnome.”

Junior giggled and Franco had never heard a more beautiful sound.

Isco made them all pose for a selfie together with their bodies fully buried under the balls, leaving their heads and Isco’s photo-taking arm. Franco let him do whatever he wanted. He let Isco pile balls up on him and laugh when they made the mildest outline of a boner. He laughed even harder when Junior picked the top ball off obliviously. God, Franco loved this little family.

Their two hours were up just like that. They got up and left the ball pit – Junior more reluctantly than anyone else – before they were chased out.

They ended up in the Lego aisle, thanks to Franco, because he realised he’d never bought a Lego set for Junior before. He took Junior on a tour down the aisle before they settled near the vehicle Lego sets. Franco picked out a few sets for Junior to choose from. They sat on the floor and discussed it – well, Franco discussed it. He described the sets to Junior and Junior nodded even though Franco knew he didn’t understand.

Junior eventually chose an airplane set that came with a few Lego people and a catering truck. He hugged it to his chest happily as Franco scooped him up and headed to the cashier.

He got distracted when they passed through the puzzles aisle, by a 24-piece puzzle depicting a night city skyline. It was a little too many pieces for him, but Franco got it down for him anyway for a closer look. Junior grabbed it immediately, wedging it between himself and Franco.

“I want,” he demanded.

“Okay,” Franco smiled. “Why don’t we look at more? What about this one?” Franco picked a 12-piece puzzle of a school playground. It seemed more suitable for Junior’s age.

“I want _all_.”

So Franco put him down again and got an entire selection of puzzles for Junior to choose from. He lay them out on the floor and let Junior take a look at them and describe them in his baby language. He touched each of them in turn and gave those that he didn’t want a push so they slid across the aisle.

Franco didn’t even realise Isco was gone until they were done picking and Franco turned and saw Isco come trotting down the aisle to meet them, phone in hand and pointed at Franco and Junior like he was taking a video. Franco narrowed his eyes and Isco laughed. He stopped videoing and typed something, then trotted the rest of the way towards them. Franco glanced sheepishly at the box of Legos and the three boxes of jigsaw puzzles tucked under his arm.

“Uh,” he said lamely. “I’m…can I get these for him?”

Isco smiled. “Yeah. Of course.”

Franco beamed at him and headed to the cashier to pay before Isco could offer. The bag was too heavy for Junior to carry so Franco carried it for him.

“Where have you been?” Franco asked as they walked quietly, hand in hand, out the store and into the mall.

“To refill the parking meter,” Isco said. “And, um, to see where we could have dinner.”

“So where are we having dinner?”

Isco had no answer to that, which made Franco half-amused, half-suspicious. Isco avoided any further questions by taking Junior out of Franco’s arms and bringing him over to the store directory, reading out all the restaurant names to him to see if he heard something he liked.

Franco stood a few feet behind them and took his phone out from his pocket – it was actually just one of Isco's lousy old phones with Franco's SIM card slipped into it, but anyway. There was a slew of notifications, all reading, _Instagram: iscoalarcon tagged you in their story._

Franco opened Instagram and tapped on Isco’s story. It started off in the car, Franco driving and Isco in the backseat with Junior. A slew of emoji balls was across the screen, followed by big coloured dots and Franco’s tag. It was a video of the back of Franco’s head which shifted jerkily to a view of a smiling Junior, and then the front camera for a very unflattering view of Isco himself. Then the video ended.

The next part was that video he’d tried to take of Junior and Franco. The camera focused on Junior first, swimming around in his pool of balls and bursting out in front of Franco. Franco catching him and doing an Eskimo kiss with him. Then Junior finally catching sight of Isco and picking up a ball and throwing it at him. Franco laughing and earning himself the same treatment. Franco’s tag was near the bottom of the screen with a blue heart.

It was followed by the ball pit selfie. Franco’s tag had a green heart.

The last video in the story was when Isco was coming back from his mysterious adventure, walking down the aisle towards Franco and Junior. They were sitting on the ground, Franco’s legs bent in front of him and Junior sitting in between them. They looked to be having a very serious discussion about the puzzle sets laid out in front of them. Then Franco realised that he was being videoed and narrowed his eyes at Isco, and the video ended with Isco laughing. The text across the screen read, _I have two kids now @fdv2289,_ followed by a red heart.

Franco couldn’t help but smile. Isco was. He was so extra sometimes but Franco loved it. Franco loved the feeling he got when Isco flaunted their relationship. Because Franco wasn’t one to do that. He was glad that Isco took over all the social stuff.

Franco thought of the time Isco told him that Alvaro had called them _‘Franco and Francisco, a match made in heaven.’_ He was amazed that Alvaro hadn’t been wrong.

Franco kept his phone and walked up to Isco and Junior. He wrapped the both of them in the tightest hug he could manage, not caring that Junior’s toes were digging into his ribs. He gave Isco a few loud smooches on his lips and Isco gave a soft, confused chuckle.

“Love you,” Franco said.

“Love you too,” Isco smiled.

Junior puckered his lips and made loud kissy sounds, so they accommodated him.

“Oh, fu – fish,” Isco said suddenly, hurriedly pulling away from Franco. He thrusted Junior into Franco’s arms and reached into his hoodie, on the opposite side of which Junior had been held, to pull out –

He pulled out a single dark red rose. One of its petals floated gracefully to the ground.

“Oops,” Isco said. He held the rose towards Franco. “Uh. For you. We kinda, uh. We kinda crushed it? When we hugged. Sorry.”

Franco laughed. He took the rose and twirled it between his finger and thumb. “Why?”

Isco shrugged. “I…never get you anything.”

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“I want to.”

“Is this where you’ve been all this while? Instead of finding a place to have dinner?”

Isco shuffled his feet around awkwardly. “To make things clear, I _did_ refill the parking meter, okay. It’s not my fault the florist is at the other end of this freaking mall.”

Franco laughed again. He couldn’t help it. Isco was so fucking adorable and he always tried to make Franco happy in his little quirky ways and it was so fucking cheesy but Franco never wanted him to stop. He gave Isco a kiss on the nose before tucking the rose stalk into the front of his sweater so only the flower stuck out. He didn’t care about how stupid he looked. Suddenly, Franco just _didn’t care._

He didn’t care about what the world had in store for him as long as he had Isco’s tiny hand in one of his and Junior’s tiny butt in his other. So he held on to the both of them, the jewels of his life, and marched through the mall feeling like the king of the world.


	26. Take The Fire From My Belly And The Beat From My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Hurts Like Heaven by Coldplay.

Isco met Alvaro in the parking lot as they arrived for the pre-match meeting for the first leg of the Sevilla game.

“So are you excited to play against Franco again?” Alvaro asked as he chomped on his banana.

“He’s suspended,” Isco said.

“Oh,” Alvaro said. He paused briefly. “So, uh, did…did you guys have like, a fight?”

“Yeah,” Isco said. Alvaro had been away in Argentina with Paulo and he’d missed the entire thing except for the online articles – which, like every other thing online, was practically already set in stone. “It’s over, though.”

“So you’re like, okay now?”

“We’re okay now.”

“Totally? A hundred percent?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay,” Alvaro said. “Just let me know if you want me to punch him in the face.”

“Please don’t,” Isco said. “He already got punched in the face. He doesn’t need another one.”

“He did? What happened?”

God, Isco needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

“Nothing,” he finally said.

“Tell me,” Alvaro nudged him in the ribs. “Is that a fucking hickey on your neck? Fuck, Isco fucking Alarcon has a fucking hickey on his neck.”

“Shut up,” Isco quickly slapped his hand over his neck. “Is it obvious?”

“Is it _obvious_? Have you _seen it_?”

“You’re of no help at all,” Isco remarked. He stormed ahead and headed straight to the restrooms to take a look at his neck.

It didn’t look _too_ bad. It was just a small purplish bruise. Maybe Isco could pop his collar and then no one would notice. Alvaro was so fucking dramatic.

 _Thanks for the hickey_ , he texted Franco, anyway.

 _You only just noticed?_ was Franco’s reply.

Isco hated everybody.

Before they could head to the locker room to change, Isco was pulled aside by Zidane. He was a little surprised, but not too worried because he’d already seen this coming.

“Isco,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the opportunity to sit down and talk to you about this properly. About you and Franco Vazquez.”

“Yeah, that’s okay, boss.”

“It only just became an urgent problem because of this match against Sevilla. We both know that he’s suspended, but I want to know how you feel about this. If you’re…okay.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“And if I let you play today, there will be no conflict of interest?”

Isco swallowed. He was supposed to be mature about this. He knew Alvaro had received the same talk and Alvaro had agreed. But he also knew that was only because _Alvaro had never played against Paulo before_. He didn’t understand how it _felt_ like. And Isco knew. Isco understood. Isco thought he’d never, ever forget how it felt like to play against Franco, even if it was just against Franco’s _team_. Even if the previous time they’d played as opponents, they hadn’t become a couple yet.

“Yeah,” he said, anyway, clearing his throat. Maturity. Maturity. “No conflict of interest.”

“Good,” Zidane said. “And another thing, I want you to know that any decision I make today to play or not play you doesn’t have anything to do with your relationship with Franco Vazquez.”

“Sure, okay.”

Zidane smiled. He gave Isco’s shoulder a few pats. “I’m very proud of you,” he said before walking away.

Being the busybody that he was, Alvaro began staring intently at Isco as they walked into the locker room. Isco ignored him.

 _Love you,_ he texted Franco instead.

 _See you later,_ was Franco’s reply, followed by three red hearts. Three!

Isco headed outside for warmups with a big grin on his face.

\------

The whole collar-popping hickey-hiding plan turned out to be unneeded. As did the entire conflict of interest fiasco.

Because Isco spent the entire match sitting on the bench.

Real Madrid won the first leg 3-0, anyway, and Isco turned around the moment the final whistle was blown to look for Franco, whom he knew was sitting in the crowd behind the Sevilla bench.

Franco was already looking towards Isco. He gave Isco a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Everyone got up to head back down the tunnel, so Isco did the same, intentionally slowing down to allow Franco to catch up. And Franco _did_ catch up – but didn’t fall into step next to Isco, instead just walked past Isco, turning around only to give Isco a brief glance.

Isco got to the locker room and changed out of his kit. He texted Franco, _Are you mad at me?_

_No, why would I be?_

_I don’t know._

_I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to interact right after the match when everyone is looking. We’re just giving them more things to talk about,_ Franco replied after a long while, like he had very carefully selected every word.

 _Okay,_ Isco sent.

_You mad at me?_

_No. I love you._

_I love you too, stinky bean._

Isco smiled. He packed his things and headed outside to the car, where he was ambushed by some of his teammates inviting him out for supper. He obliged, mainly because his parents had arrived that morning and Junior was in their custody because – well, because Franco obviously couldn’t continue babysitting given that he was suddenly the enemy.

He got home just before midnight to a dark figure sitting on his stoop, winter jacket wrapped tightly around himself and fur-lined hood pulled to cover his head.

“Franco?” Isco called hesitantly, because it was dark and maybe it wasn’t Franco.

The figure removed his hood and turned to look at Isco. “Hey,” Franco said.

“You okay?” Isco asked, sitting next to him on the step.

“Yeah,” Franco said. He cleared his throat. “You, uh. You’re not mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Isco said again. He wrapped his arms tightly around Franco and felt a wave of relief when Franco leaned into him. “Why didn’t you go inside?”

Franco shrugged.

“I’m not mad at you,” Isco added. “I swear.”

“I just,” Franco sighed. “I’m sorry. I was so rude.”

“Franco. You don’t have to be sorry about anything.”

“I just didn’t want them to, you know. To have new articles tomorrow morning about us being all...like, fraternizing with the enemy. That’ll be the title. Fraternizing with the enemy. Or maybe they’ll be punny and use _franternizing_.”

Isco laughed. He couldn’t help but. “Did you just come up with that?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Don’t be upset anymore, okay?”

“I’m not upset.”

“You so are.”

Franco gave a little huff, and then went silent. Which wasn’t an issue, because he had been much noisier and social the last few days than he usually was, and he was probably just tired of it. He probably just wanted to be quiet for a while. Isco was fine with that.

He dragged Franco inside and made a warm cup of tea for him. Franco eyed it suspiciously but started to sip it when Isco told him it was chamomile.

“Zidane talked to me about you,” Isco said when they were all snuggled up warmly on the couch without Franco’s bulky jacket.

“Yeah?” Franco asked, and Isco could tell he was trying to sound calm but his voice still shook a little. “What did he say?”

“He asked me if there would be a problem if I played against Sevilla. About the conflict of interest. I told him no. He said whether he chooses to play me or not doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Franco didn’t answer. He just ran his hand soothingly through Isco’s curls.

“He didn’t play me anyway,” Isco continued softly.

Silence for a while.

“And how do you feel about that?” Franco finally asked.

“Let’s say he really was worried about the conflict of interest,” Isco started. “You weren’t playing. He had no reason to worry. Which technically means that…I was supposed to be in line to play. But I didn’t even make it. This is like…like, how far down the pecking order do you think that puts me?”

“I don’t know,” Franco whispered. His fingers moved more urgently against Isco’s scalp.

“It just…makes me think, you know? Like, how big a hit are our careers gonna take by this whole gay thing? Does this…I don’t know, drop our value or something? Will it make us, like, unwanted? I don’t…I don’t want to stop playing football just because I’m gay.”

“I’m sorry,” Franco said. “Isco. I’m sorry.”

“No, hey,” Isco sat up hurriedly and took Franco’s hands in his. “No. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just…thinking aloud. Yeah?”

“I just – maybe – maybe you and I –“

“You and I are the most important thing in my life right now,” Isco said. “Okay? Franco. I didn’t mean to say that my life is ruined because of you. Because it isn’t. If anything, it got so much better because of you. I just – I kinda hate people, you know?”

Franco smiled. He nodded.

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” Isco whispered. “With us.”

“People think there is,” Franco said quietly.

“You know, Alvaro’s dad used to think that way?”

“Yeah. I remember them telling me. It was before the whole press conference thing.”

“Look,” Isco said. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going to change the world, Franco. Together with Paulo and Alvaro. Maybe we already have. Whatever it is, we’re doing something good.”

“Are you upset about not playing?”

“We have lots of good players,” Isco said. “And it’s just this one game. Maybe he was right to be worried about conflict of interest.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Isco sighed. Franco was staring earnestly at him and Isco just couldn’t not tell him the truth. “Yeah, I’m a little upset.”

Franco sighed and hugged Isco close to him. “We’ll get through this,” he said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“We will,” Isco smiled. “You upset you didn’t get to play?”

“I was too naughty,” Franco said. It made Isco laugh. “And I’m more upset about the fact that we lost 3-0.”

“But if you’d played?”

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten to play.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s been…difficult for me to get time. It makes me miss Palermo.”

“It’s your first season. First seasons are always difficult.”

“Yeah,” Franco said thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you dare doubt yourself.”

Franco gave a little chuckle like he knew there was no reason to even try and argue with Isco. He gave the top of Isco’s head a little kiss. Then there was a long period of silence.

“You don’t feel like talking?” Isco asked softly.

Franco nodded his head. “Yeah,” he whispered.

So they stopped talking. Isco just let Franco think, he let Franco think because he knew that was Franco’s favourite thing to do. He let Franco think even though he was afraid of where Franco’s whirlpool of thoughts would take him.

He hoped that his presence in Franco’s arms would guide Franco away from that abyss. That his presence would help Franco think happy thoughts. He hoped that his presence was enough to make Franco happy.

Because Franco’s presence never failed to do so for Isco.

\------

Franco and Isco had a league match on the same day between the first and second legs.

Isco played in Madrid earlier in the afternoon while Franco’s match in San Sebastián was at primetime, so while his teammates were chilling in their rooms or taking their afternoon naps, Franco turned on the TV to watch Isco’s match.

He saw both of Isco’s goals. He saw how _happy_ Isco was. Isco wasn’t unwanted. He was just underappreciated. And it wasn’t Isco’s fault that it was that way. Franco knew it wasn’t Isco’s fault. Isco was trying the best he could.

But Isco would always have one person in the world who wanted him, who loved him, and who appreciated him – and that person was Franco.

Franco turned off the TV when the match was over. He didn’t want to disturb his sleeping roommate Matias any further.

He took out his phone and texted Isco two heart-eyed emojis, followed by, _one for each goal._

Isco replied fifteen minutes later with a kissy emoji.

 _I’m so proud of you_ , Franco sent.

_I love you._

_I love you, too._

_Can you come to Madrid so I can kiss you?_

Franco laughed. He felt all squirmy and gross in his tummy. _You come over here._

_No, you come over._

_Fuck, I’m not playing this disgusting game with you._

_You are, too._

_Am not._

_Haha, you got tricked._

Franco rolled his eyes. Sometimes Isco was like an overgrown child but that was exactly what made their time together so much fun. _Anyway,_ he replied. _I’m so happy for you._

_Yeah?_

_Yeah. You deserve this so much, Isco Alarcon, you deserve the entire world and I wish I could give it to you myself._

_I love you so much._

_I love you,_ Franco sent, with a few hearts at the end for good measure. And also because he knew Isco loved it when he sent hearts, that weirdo.

_Do you have time to talk? I wanna hear your voice._

So he wanted the hearts in person. Franco didn’t mind that. He tapped on the phone icon and called Isco, who picked up within three seconds.

“Hey,” Franco said softly.

“Hi,” Isco whispered. The background was a little noisy but it somehow, magically, lowered in frequency and slowly faded away, just like everything else had always been when Isco was around. “Wish you were here.”

“I love you,” Franco said. He felt like. He felt like he could never stop saying it. He said it every moment in his mind, as if he and Isco were somehow telepathic and Franco hoped he could hear it from wherever he was. Franco wanted to say it every day, every hour, every minute, for the rest of his life.

“Love you, too,” Isco said, and Franco heard the smile in his voice.

They spent the three free hours Franco had before reporting time just. Just alternating between talking about nothing and soothing, calming silences. Like Isco somehow just _knew_ that Franco didn’t feel like talking too much. Like he was trying to give Franco the space he needed while also letting Franco know that he was right there whenever Franco wanted or needed him.

Franco didn’t think he could ever describe this feeling. He didn’t think he could ever describe love.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t try to.

\------

Isco got injured before the second leg against Sevilla.

He had a muscular problem in his leg and had to sit out half of the training sessions between the first and second legs. He was eventually deemed unfit and was banished home for a few days. He spent those few days pestering Franco out of boredom, since Franco was out of the second leg too.

Alvaro came by one day after training, banging vigorously on the door until Isco got up to get it. He was carrying a bowl of soup, again, which he placed on the table in front of the couch, where Isco sat.

“Franco called me and told me you kept bugging him so he asked me to come by with some food to distract you.”

“Pfft,” Isco said. He would’ve been pissed, but. But that was also really cute. He picked up the chicken soup and sniffed at it. It was loaded with tons of extra pepper like Isco liked.

Before he could say anything, Alvaro continued, “I’ve known you for what, ten years? And I never knew you liked so much pepper in your soup. Franco told me to add it. How did I not know this at all?”

Isco smiled into his bowl. “See, my boyfriend knows me so well.”

“Pfft,” it was Alvaro’s turn to say. “My boyfriend knows me well too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isco accommodated.

There was a long silence punctuated by Isco’s loud soup-slurping. He caught Alvaro staring at him fondly when he was finished.

“What?” he asked.

“You look happy,” Alvaro said softly.

“I am,” Isco smiled.

“Franco told me to take care of you,” Alvaro said. “He sounded worried.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. That makes you even happier, doesn’t it?” Alvaro noted.

Isco smiled shyly at him. “Yeah.”

“The last time I saw you this happy with someone else was,” Alvaro shrugged. “Was when you were with Sonia.”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He _had_ been happy with Sonia. He’d been the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

“You know, you never did tell me what went down between the both of you.”

“Alvaro, c’mon. It’s been three years.”

“Have you told Franco about it?”

“No.”

“I just…I just feel that maybe it’s a little unhealthy that you haven’t even talked about it once.”

“Why does it matter? I was happy then and I’m happy now.”

“It’s just that you can’t tell when you’re repressing things. You’re so used to putting everything on the table that you can’t tell when there’s something missing. You’re so used to thinking that it’s all out that you don’t notice that you’re keeping it inside.”

“Are you saying that things with Franco will end the same way they did with Sonia?” Isco asked.

“No, I’m –“ Alvaro sighed. “No. Look. Please don’t get upset with me.”

A long, tense silence.

“Do you ever plan on talking to Franco about it?” Alvaro finally asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“So maybe…” Alvaro shrugged. “Maybe if you wanna…if you wanna talk to me about it? You can, like, take it as a practice session. I mean, Franco probably thinks that I already know, anyway.”

Isco smiled. He knew Alvaro only cared. Alvaro always cared in this prying, annoying way because he knew he would only understand if he saw the complete picture.

When Isco didn’t reply, Alvaro continued, “I just – I care for you, okay, Isco? That period of time after you broke up with Sonia, it was…it was the worst I’d ever seen you. I know you knew you were better off as friends. I mean, that’s all you were willing to fucking tell me, idiot. But I also know that it was hard to accept. And I just. I don’t want to see you that way again.”

“I won’t be,” Isco whispered. Even though he would’ve been lying if he’d said he had never been worried about it.

“Okay,” Alvaro said softly. “Well, if you need me.”

Then he just sat there quietly, watching TV and playing with his phone.

Isco escaped to the bathroom and splashed his face with some cold water to get rid of the tears that were threatening to pour out of his eye sockets. Thinking of what had gone down with Sonia was – it was painful. Not because Isco still harboured feelings for Sonia. More because Isco remembered that struggle, he remembered it as clear as day. He remembered that feeling, gradual but sudden at the same time, of realizing that the spark between Sonia and him was gone. He remembered how torn he was between pushing it away and accepting it. He did not ever want to talk or think about it just like he never wanted to talk or think about what had happened when he first had feelings for Franco.

He wiped his face dry and went outside to tell Alvaro all about it.

\------

On the morning of the second leg of the Real Madrid-Sevilla match, Isco took the train to Seville with his teammates. But instead of joining all their pre-match festivities, he went to Franco’s place.

Franco opened the door with this ridiculously surprised look on his face. His eyebrows shot to the sky and his mouth fell open before closing, and then opening again.

“I –“ he started. “Um, I –“

“Hey,” Isco offered.

“Hi,” Franco said. “I wanted to go to Madrid, but I had training yesterday and I didn’t know if you were going to be at the match and –“

“Shh, shh,” Isco gently shoved him so they could get inside and sit down.

“Are you okay?” Franco asked, hands grabbing tightly onto Isco’s arms and worried gaze examining every inch of Isco. “Why’d you come? Is there something wrong?”

“I just wanted to see you,” Isco said softly. “Fraternize with my enemy.”

Franco smiled. He finally smiled. “Okay.”

Isco snuggled up warmly against him, much to Franco’s annoyance because he was clean and Isco obviously was not. He let Isco do it, anyway. He wrapped his arm around Isco’s shoulder and pulled Isco closer. He kissed Isco’s temple and the skin above his ear. He whispered ‘I love you’ to Isco a few times.

“Hey,” Isco whispered when the random TV programme they were watching faded into commercials. “Thanks for ordering the soup delivery.”

Franco chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Alvaro told me I look really happy.”

“Are you?” Franco asked.

Isco nodded. “Happier than ever.”

Franco kissed Isco’s forehead, and then pushed Isco’s hair back off it. “Did he say anything else?”

“Yeah, he, uh,” Isco started, and he felt Franco fidget against him. “I talked to him about Sonia. He suggested that I talk to you about her, too.”

“About – about Sonia?” Franco asked nervously. “What about her?”

“Nothing, just,” Isco sighed. “You know Alvaro. It’s been three years but he’s still thinking about it. He was saying that I never talked to anyone about it and it isn’t healthy. And I guess, I don’t know. Maybe if you want to hear about it then I’ll talk to you about it.”

“You…you don’t still have feelings for her, do you?”

“No, no, I don’t,” Isco said quickly. “Franco. I haven’t for three years. I don’t like Sonia that way anymore.”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. “Yeah. I know.”

“I love you. Only you.”

“I love you, too,” Franco smiled. “You, uh…you can talk about her if you want to.”

“I mean…if things had worked out, I’d probably still be with her.”

“Getting married or something.”

“I don’t know, yeah.”

“So…so why’d you guys break up? I mean, I know about the ‘better as friends’ part. But…the other parts?”

Isco smiled. He was glad Franco was comfortable knowing all of this. But then again, Franco had always been willing and eager to listen to Isco talk about himself.

“Sonia and I were together for eleven months,” Isco started softly, urged on when Franco nodded. “And we got along really well. Very, very well. We were the same type of person and we faced life the same way. She’s a jokester like I am. I mean, you know that. You’ve met her.”

“Just a couple times,” Franco said. “But I can tell.”

“I had so much fun with her. Like, we’d spend all our time laughing and playing video games and Sonia would talk to me about our mutual friends and we would make fun of them but it’d only be between us two. And she came to me with every problem she ever had with her boss and colleagues. We talked every night on the couch with a glass of juice. It was like. It was like a ritual.

“I can’t tell you when exactly it all went wrong. Because _nothing_ went wrong. That was just it. Everything went too smoothly. I didn’t even notice it. It was all just…it was like a snowball rolling downhill and collecting more snow and becoming bigger, you know? It was so slow but it was so fast. And I still remember it. I remember waking up one day and seeing her sleeping and being like, ‘do I still love this woman?’ The question came out of nowhere. I just. I just realised that we weren’t a couple more than we were just best friends.”

“How’s that?”

“We were more into…talking than anything else. Sure, I did care for her. But it was more in the friendly way, like I’ll help you if you need me to. There was no…spark. It sounds so clichéd but there was no spark. I could see myself with her for a long time but not every day. Maybe once a week for a meal and to catch up. But not as a partner. Which sucked because I liked her a lot, I loved her, and at that time this was so confusing to me. Because I thought it should’ve been the same thing. If I liked her enough to see her every day, then why…how is that not the same as loving her as a girlfriend?

“I didn’t tell her about this. This was what tore us apart, mostly. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, I thought maybe I was going through some phase and that I’d get over it. I had to make a choice between waiting for it to pass, if it ever did – or telling her straight about it and having everything disappear. And I was so tired, Franco. I was tired of even thinking about it.”

“Did you end up telling her?”

“The funny thing is, she was the one who came to me about it,” Isco gave a wry smile. “We were getting distant. She came and told me that…exactly the same thing I just told you. She said that there was no spark. And god, Franco. You have no idea how relieved I was. I was _relieved_. That my _girlfriend_ told me there was _no spark._ ”

Franco laughed softly. “Yeah, that’s funny.”

“We had this really long, honest talk. And we decided that friends was all we could ever be. And then the tension just…just disappeared. It’s difficult to explain. It was like…”

“Like once the burden of staying in a relationship was gone, everything else seemed easy.”

Isco turned and stared at Franco. Franco gave this timid eyebrow raise, like he was afraid he’d gotten it wrong.

“Yeah,” Isco whispered.

Franco smiled. He pushed Isco’s head back into his shoulder, tucking it into the crook of his neck.

“We were best friends,” Isco continued. “Sonia is still one of my best friends.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco sighed. “But I was. I have to say I was really upset for like, a week. I mean, it was upsetting. Thinking about how things could just fall apart so easily. I mean, I thought Sonia was the one I’d be with forever. But it turned out that…that I was wrong. And to have her like, suddenly…suddenly be gone from my apartment. It felt empty. I didn’t – I don’t think I missed her more than I missed the idea of her. You know? But it just. It tore me apart. It just continued on from that struggle of telling or not telling her. And the fact that I didn't understand – and still don’t quite understand – why I had that line drawn between friendly affection and romantic affection. Because I never had that differentiation. I still don’t. You know that. Anyway, I had a really hard time. Even when the whole thing was over and I started going out with other people. I felt like I could never get it right again. And Alvaro said that he doesn’t want to ever see me that way again. Which is why he asked me to tell you about it.”

“Is he saying that we’ll end up like you and Sonia?”

“You know, that’s what I said?” Isco laughed. “And I got mad at him.”

“It’s because you were so happy with Sonia, right?” Franco asked quietly. “Just like…just like you’re happy with me now. And Alvaro thinks that. He thinks that you’re wrong about me. Because you also think that – you also think that you and me are forever, and –“

“Franco.”

“– and he’s afraid that you’re wrong like you were about Sonia.”

“Franco. Stop.”

“Do you agree with him? Just tell me honestly. I won’t get mad.”

“No,” Isco said softly, after the briefest pause. “I don’t agree with him. Because what I feel with you is…it’s completely different from what I felt with Sonia. With her I already knew her from the beginning, I already knew her flaws and her annoying parts. Because she was _me_. Just…female. And you, Franco – I’m still learning about you. Just like you are about me. We’re growing together. And that’s what makes me so sure that I’m not wrong about you. Because every new thing I learn just makes me love you even more. It’s like, you know, those little plants where you put their branches together then they’ll start intertwining and eventually they’ll become like one single tree? That’s us. Because we’re still at that little plant stage and our branches are going to be inseparable. You know that? We’re going to be the biggest, strongest tree ever and you’re not going to be able to get rid of me.”

Franco smiled against the top of Isco’s head before kissing it. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“I think that – I think that you and I are much more mature than what Sonia and I were,” Isco said. “I mean, not that she isn’t mature, because she’s grown so much more since she had Junior. But it’s just like, we were the kind of people who won’t work well together. We’re too…ourselves. Too individual. Like two north poles of a magnet. People like us, we get along, but what we need is someone complementary to us. Someone to reel us in. A south pole. That’s the second reason I know I’m not wrong about you, by the way. You’re my south pole.

“But I don’t know, it’s like when I talk to her, it’s mostly about our opinions on things. What do you think about this girl saying this about me? What do you think about Trump being elected? Do you think we should sign Junior up for piano lessons? Do you have any problems I can help with? It’s just. It’s not the kind of conversation where everything just flows and we can talk about literally anything or just hang out doing nothing. Because what I want in a relationship is – is this. Is just sitting here with you and talking about a random topic. Even if the random topic is nothing. Like, I could just suddenly ask you, ‘Franco, my poop was really hard this morning, what do you think I should do?’ And you’d get into that topic with me.”

“No I won’t.”

“You would, too.”

Franco paused, then sighed in resignation. “I’ll get you some milk later.”

“See?”

“Are you going to constantly update me on your poop consistency from now?”

“Yes.”

Franco huffed, and then went quiet.

“You know, I actually have something to say in our defense? Had you said you agreed with Alvaro,” he finally said.

“Yeah?” Isco asked. “What is it?”

“Just a disclaimer, it’s probably going to sound dumb.”

“Franco Vazquez, dumb? Impossible.”

Franco smacked him on the head and he laughed.

“So I think that,” Franco started. “I mean, I thought that…when you started to talk about Sonia, that I would be jealous. I expected to feel jealous. Because after all she’s your ex and your best friend. Second behind Alvaro or whatever. But the thing is, I didn’t. Because – okay, while you were talking, I was definitely listening, but I also figured this out. I trust you. I trust you so much that – that the thought of another person trying to tear us apart, be it Alvaro or Sonia or fucking journalists or whoever, isn’t going to change my mind. Because I _believe in us_ , Alarcon. I know that I’ll turn to you when I need you and that you’ll do the same when you need me. And I have no doubt in my mind that we’re right about this. That what you said about the whole tree thing is true. That I’m going to try and make you happy for the rest of your life and make sure you never feel the way you did when you and Sonia fell apart. And this may be my first relationship with anyone but – Alarcon. I think I’m fucking nailing it.”

Isco laughed shyly. “Just ‘cause it’s me?”

“Mmhmm. Just ‘cause it’s you. I’m very…very, very happy that it’s you. God, I’m so fucking happy that it’s you and not someone else. I probably wouldn’t have fallen for anyone else.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I probably wouldn’t have…connected with them. Like I have with you. Besides, anyone else and I’d only be settling for second best at most, and Franco Vazquez only settles for the _best_.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t even know he was second best.”

“That’s worse. Then I’d be stuck thinking the highest standard was…whoever he was.”

“You’re mean, you know that?”

“Only to people who aren’t you.”

Isco was lucky. Isco was so lucky that the love of his life was someone so mature and calm that he wouldn’t freak out about Isco being with Sonia even after all these years. That he didn’t freak out about Junior or about the implications this trio could possibly have on their relationship. It wasn’t that Franco was inexperienced and didn’t understand. Because after that day, Isco was sure that Franco _did_ understand but accepted it anyway. That was the biggest difference.

Isco turned and kissed Franco on the lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Franco smiled. “I just. I love talking to you. Or listening to you talk. Literally about anything at all.”

“About poop?”

Franco sighed. “Yeah, about poop, too.”

Then Isco made him get up and go get some milk, so Franco did, albeit with a lot of whining. He got back with a troubled look on his face and Isco was momentarily worried.

“If you ever look at me and realise the spark is gone, will you tell me?” he asked.

Isco laughed. He could do nothing but laugh. “That won’t happen.”

“But what if?”

“Okay,” Isco said, just so Franco would chill. “I will.”

Franco sat down, contented. He held the glass of milk near Isco’s mouth so he could drink from the straw. He continued holding it even when Isco tucked himself into Franco’s arm again, allowing Isco to continue drinking like a baby goat being fed.

“Tell me about the whole…Junior thing,” Franco finally said.

“When she found out she was pregnant?” Isco asked with the straw still in his mouth.

“Yeah.”

“It was pretty ironic,” Isco laughed again before continuing to chew on the straw. Franco hated when he did that, but. Well, Franco was the one making him talk right now. “I was – I was with a guy. Like, uh. _With_ a guy. Like, he’d just finished blowing me.”

“Holy fuck,” Franco said, before bursting into shocked laughter. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, and it was…my first time with a guy. Let’s just say that after breaking up with Sonia I decided to pursue my undying urge to fuck around with a dude.”

“And?”

“I liked it.”

“ _No,_ I meant what happened with Sonia? Obviously you liked it. C’mon. I’m not stupid. Can’t say the same for you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco slapped Franco on the shoulder.

“Tell me what _happened,_ ” Franco urged.

“Okay, so I was lying there all done and sweaty and like, God I wanna get fucked in the ass by a dude just to try it out –“

“Too much information, Alarcon.”

“– and then my phone rings and it’s Sonia, and I was like fuck, not now, and I rejected it.”

“Rude piece of shit.”

“And then she called back and that orgasm haze was gone so I realised that Sonia shouldn’t even have been calling me at all. She’d double-called, so it must’ve been something urgent. So I took the call.”

“You know, this is strangely detailed for something that happened post-orgasm so many years ago.”

“Fuck you, I learnt I was going to be a dad. You don’t forget something like that.”

“Okay so what happened?”

“She was crying. Sonia was crying and she was babbling about herself being pregnant but I couldn’t really hear so I was like, ‘Sonia I can’t hear you it sounds like you’re saying you’re pregnant.’ And she was like ‘I FUCKING AM!’”

Franco burst into loud laughter. He laughed so hard he jostled the straw out of Isco’s mouth and nearly dropped the glass of milk. He placed it safely on the table instead, although he gave the chewed-up straw a venomous glare before he returned his attention to Isco.

“You’re so dumb,” he said.

“Fuck off. We’d been broken up two weeks. We’d never even _talked_ about kids. It was the farthest possible thing from what I’d expected her to ever call me about.”

“So then what happened?” Franco asked. Isco began to realise that Franco loved listening to stories.

“Then I had to leave and find her. I just left the poor dude there. I didn’t even know his name.”

“But did he come?”

“No, I just said I left him there.”

“No, fucking hell!” Franco slapped Isco hard on the cheek. Like, _really hard._ “Like, orgasm!”

“Of course he fucking did, why else would he have let me go?” Isco said, slapping Franco back. “Fuck you, you think you can just slap me?”

“I can slap you if you say something stupid,” Franco said. Accompanied by another slap.

It escalated into a violent slapping fight which ended when Isco kissed Franco to soothe him. God, Franco was so fucking old but sometimes he acted like a baby.

“So you went to find Sonia, and then what happened?” Franco asked.

“I just. She just cried. So I didn’t know what else to do except hold her. And I thought she was really upset about it so I told her I was sorry and she yelled at me because she thought _I_ was upset about it, and fuck. Neither of us was upset about it. We’re so fucking dumb.”

“Why weren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Isco shrugged. “It was just, the first thing that came to my mind was that I had to take responsibility. The first thing that came to my mind was that okay, I’m going to be a dad, this is really a thing. It was never anything else. And it was the same for Sonia. She was the one who first said that we could make this work. It was like…I guess it was sort of like going on this huge adventure with your best friend.”

Franco nodded, contented and silently attentive again, so Isco continued.

“It’s just all down to us being good friends,” Isco said. “Co-parenting, like I told you. We sat down and figured out all our options. We figured that our breakup was friendly and it wasn’t like we couldn’t stand each other, so that wasn’t an issue. We knew from the start that…that abortion was an option, but you know, we had a really long thought about it and decided that it wasn’t necessary. Sure, we didn’t love each other. But we loved the baby and there was no reason at all to get rid of it. She was healthy, the kid was healthy as far as we knew, and we had the ability to take care of it. A kid shouldn’t ever have to be a burden for people like us. I mean…you know how much money I make. So she moved back into my apartment so I could take care of her. It was all just. Just so smooth. Just like everything had always been between us. Sometimes I think we’d be great business partners.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. “Yeah, you would.”

“We said that if it was a boy, he’d be Isco Junior. And if it was a girl, she’d be Valeria. Sonia’s middle name.”

“That’s nice.”

“I guess it was a good thing it came soon after our breakup. I mean – of course it had to come soon because Junior’s mine, but. But I guess it was good because it was still fresh. Like, we still remembered what it was like.”

“So does Sonia have a boyfriend now?”

“On and off, yeah,” Isco shrugged. “We don’t talk about our love lives.”

“She knows you’re with me though, right?”

“Yeah. You know, if you weren’t gay, she’d totally be after you.”

“What, why? And how do you even know that?”

“She was onto you the moment she saw you at Junior’s birthday.”

“Fuck. Hey, we could totally have a threesome with her.”

“What the fuck, Vazquez! What the fuck! That’s my baby mommy you’re talking about!”

“I know, I know,” Franco chortled. “I’m kidding. Fuck. Don’t hit me.”

Isco hit him anyway, on the nose. He rolled his eyes when Franco gazed over like a sad puppy.

“Anyway, I’m glad you guys were so cool about it,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean…can you imagine? If things aren’t the way they are now?”

“I can’t,” Isco said softly. He loved his life. Everything was in place.

“Maybe in another universe,” Franco said thoughtfully.

“I don’t like that universe.”

A short silence. Sudden but comfortable.

“If it weren’t for Junior, d’you think you and Sonia would still be friends?” Franco asked.

“Of course, yeah,” Isco smiled. “She bugs me about stuff that doesn’t have anything to do with Junior.”

Franco smiled back at him. He didn’t look angry. Or jealous. He just looked…happy.

“I love you,” Isco said. He was just. Just suddenly so grateful.

“I love you,” Franco whispered. He gave Isco’s lips a gentle peck before pressing his head against Isco’s. “So you know the difference between friendly and romantic affection?”

“I’ve felt it,” Isco said. He drummed his fingers down Franco’s cheek. “Doesn’t mean I understand it. That was why…that was why I was so interested in it when I first met you. Because you understood it so much better than me. But I still don’t understand it. It wasn’t that clear for me, towards you.”

“If you compare the start with me to the end with Sonia? Which difference was clearer?”

“The end with Sonia.”

A long silence. Isco realised his fall for Franco had probably begun earlier than he’d noticed. But he didn’t care so much for understanding all of this. He didn’t care so much for explanations and definitions. This was where Franco and him were most different.

“I guess it’s clearer to me when I don’t want something than it is to me when I want something,” Isco finally said.

“Yeah,” Franco said softly. “Because wanting something involves many other things. Many other reasons…or conditions. Or implications. But not wanting something is just…not wanting something.”

Isco smiled. “My boyfriend is so smart.”

“Of course,” Franco said proudly. “Gotta have someone to balance your stupidity.”

“Fuck off,” Isco huffed. He punched Franco once in his stomach before curling into it and sighing.

“Hey, you hungry?” Franco asked after a short pause. “Lasagna?”

So besides being kind and caring, Isco’s boyfriend was also a master chef.

Isco followed him to the kitchen and hovered around him as he got all the stuff out to make lasagna. Franco told him to go back outside and rest his leg, but Isco refused, so Franco had to lift him off the ground like a little child and make him sit on the kitchen counter. Where he sat obediently, to his credit.

“God, you’re so hot when you cook,” Isco muttered to himself. He didn’t expect Franco to hear him over the sound of the Italian sausage sizzling in the frying pan.

But Franco did. He started giggling softly to himself, but didn’t turn around until he’d scooped all the ingredients into separate bowls, layered them into the baking dish, and placed it in the oven. He washed his hands and wiped them dry before going up to Isco, gently nudging Isco’s legs apart so he could stand in between them. He rested his forearms on Isco’s shoulders, fingers fiddling with the little bit of Isco’s hair that always stuck straight out the back of his head.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“You’re so hot when you cook,” Isco breathed, his face moving closer to Franco’s with each word until his lips landed gently on Franco’s.

Franco’s lips turned upwards into a smile. They parted to deepen the kiss, to welcome Isco’s tongue. His hands gently tugged at Isco’s waist, inviting Isco to wrap his legs around Franco. Isco obliged, his ankles hooking together behind Franco’s back as Franco distracted himself with frenching the fuck out of Isco.

“I love you,” Isco sighed into Franco’s mouth.

“You fucking turn me on, Isco Alarcon,” was Franco’s response.

Isco nudged his hips against Franco’s, making Franco gasp. “Yeah?”

Franco traced his wet lips up Isco’s nose, across his brow line, down Isco’s cheek, his jaw, then up his neck to his hear, whispering into it although they were alone and there was no need to, “Blow me.”

Isco blinked at him, then at the oven.

“Thirty minutes,” Franco added.

That was way more than enough time, so Isco nodded and buried his face in Franco’s neck with a giggle when Franco lifted him again to take him to the couch. He started fussing about Isco’s injury, though, so Isco just lay on the couch himself and asked Franco to fuck his face. Which he did. Gladly.

And then Isco decided that it was a little unfair, so he made Franco blow him, too. God, they were fucking sex maniacs. Isco told Franco that and Franco laughed fondly.

He crawled up Isco’s body after they were done and collapsed on Isco, careful to avoid his injured thigh. He pressed his cheek to Isco’s right clavicle and softly nuzzled Isco’s neck.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too,” Isco smiled. He used his fingers to comb through Franco’s hair. “Can I say something?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a little cheesy.”

“Tell me.”

“You make me feel very…wanted.”

“Yeah?” Franco gave Isco’s neck a kiss. “That’s ‘cause I want you.”

Isco laughed. “No one has ever made me feel this way.”

Franco smiled. He got a few pieces of tissue paper from the table and used them to wipe the both of them clean. Isco watched him with a smile on his face. He returned it with a shy smile of his own.

“Do I…make you feel the same way?” Isco whispered to break the silence.

Franco nodded. He put the dirty tissues aside and snuggled up to Isco again, holding Isco’s head tightly so he could press his lips to Isco’s cheek. “I never know how to put it into words.”

“It’s okay,” Isco said softly. He suddenly felt. He felt relieved. Because no matter how well he knew Franco, Isco had to admit that Franco was still a tough nut to crack. Isco would only ever feel relieved if Franco told something to him directly.

“It used to be so important to me, you know?” Franco continued in a slight whisper. “Putting things into words. Defining them. Because I had to…I had to understand _everything_. I couldn’t live with myself if I couldn’t understand something. And it was so fucking tiring. You know that? It was exhausting. I was exhausted and I didn’t even have any idea. And then I met you, and. And I slowly realised that some things are best not understood. Some things are undefinable. And these things are best when we don’t try to define them. It’s so fun, you know, baby? It’s just…so fun living like this, like you are, with you.”

Isco smiled. How did Franco _ever_ expect him to have any sort of coherent response to words like that? To Isco’s favourite sort of random upheaval of Franco’s beautiful mind? Isco didn’t think of anything to say, so he turned on his side and kissed Franco on the lips.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sum up how you make me feel into one word,” Franco continued, his breath warm against Isco’s lips. “But I think ‘wanted’ sums it up pretty well.”

God, Isco was so fucking in love he was disgusted with himself.

They spent a couple minutes making out lazily and messing with each other’s hair with their fingers before the oven gave a ding.

“Oops,” Franco said, hopping off the couch and wriggling back into his pants. He looked a little proud as he gave Isco a quick kiss on the lips. “Looks like the lasagna wants me, too.”

Isco laughed. He sat there on the couch, propped up on three cushions, naked from the waist down – and watched Franco. He watched Franco as he scrubbed his hands clean with soap and wiped them dry on a clean washcloth. As he slipped his hands into a pair of oven mitts and took the dish of lasagna out of the oven, smiling when he saw that it was perfectly cooked. As he turned to ask Isco if he wanted some extra cheese, and Isco only shrugged, so Franco sprinkled more cheese and popped it back in the oven for a few more minutes. As he boiled water and made some mate, and then leaned on the counter watching the oven timer count down. As he took the dish out of the oven again when it dinged and brought the whole thing excitedly over to Isco together with his mate and two sets of utensils.

Then his smile turned into a glare, and he said, “Can’t eat with your dick hanging out like a fruit.”

Isco rolled his eyes, but put his pants back on.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening just slowly polishing the dish of lasagna off, even when the Real Madrid-Sevilla match started and the lasagna had turned cold, because neither of them wanted to get up and reheat it. The match ended 3-3, which meant qualification for Madrid.

“See?” Franco said as the programme ended. “With you, it’s 3-0. Without you, it’s 3-3.”

“It doesn’t work like that if I don’t play.”

“It does, too. Being a lucky charm is better than being nothing.”

And Isco immediately got what he was trying to say.

“You’re not nothing,” Isco said. “Don’t say that.”

Franco smiled sadly but quickly shook it off. “Maybe if you'd played, it’d be like, 7-0 or something. Which gives me a second reason to be happy you’re not playing, because after all the shit I’m talking, Sevilla’s still my team.”

“What’s the first reason?” Isco asked.

“That I got to spend the day with you.”

Isco smiled. He lunged at Franco and snuggled into his chest, and they lazed around for a little more until they both got sleepy. Isco wanted to head straight to bed but Franco insisted they had to shower and brush their teeth. Isco obliged amidst a lot of loud whining. Isco barely ever had time alone with Franco, much less an entire day. He didn’t want to waste it doing lame stuff like cleaning himself.

Anyway, they both climbed into bed smelling clean and fresh, all thanks to Franco. Franco gave Isco a few loud kisses on his cheek before settling on his own side.

“Today was the best day _ever_ ,” Isco said, exhausted, aware he sounded like a child but also not caring. The relief of talking about Sonia, especially to Franco, had hit him all at once, like a crashing wave. He’d barely ever considered talking about Sonia to anyone. And now he understood the relief it brought.

“I love you,” Franco said.

“Night,” Isco puckered his lips and Franco obliged with a kiss. “Love you.”

Franco decided he’d like to watch Isco fall asleep. Isco felt strangely secure letting him do just that.

\------

Franco awoke in the middle of the night for no particular reason. He was sweaty and uncomfortable. He’d probably had a nightmare that he couldn’t remember.

Franco sighed and turned on his side, lifting his shirt to wipe his face and air his back at the same time. Isco was still soundly asleep, his hands curled up on himself like a baby dinosaur. Franco took one of them and held it tightly.

The shock with which he had awoken left him strangely energized. He tried to go back to sleep but he just felt restless, so he watched Isco sleep instead. He rarely got to do that. He fell asleep soon after Isco did but woke up way after him. The way Isco’s breaths took his shoulders up and down was startlingly mesmerizing. So was the way he fidgeted, and the sound of his little random sighs. He had trimmed his hair at the sides so the top was longer. There was a stray curl of hair that kept falling on his forehead no matter how many times Franco tucked it back. Franco couldn’t resist but rest one of his palms gently on Isco’s cheek, which was rough with his beard. Franco gave it a soft rub.

Which turned out to be a mistake, because Isco stirred and opened his eyes. Franco hurriedly closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

The sheets rustled softly as Isco settled. Then it went silent and Franco thought Isco had gone back to sleep. But then he said, in a voice so adorably thick with sleep, “Hey. Stop pretending. I saw you.”

Franco sighed and opened his eyes. Isco was gazing over worriedly and Franco felt his heart fall a little with guilt. And he suddenly – Franco suddenly remembered what his bad dream had been about. Not _exactly,_ but he remembered the feeling that had come along with it. The one burning question it had made him want to ask.

“What is it?” Isco asked. “What happened?”

“I had a bad dream,” Franco said.

“What was it about?”

“I can’t remember,” Franco whispered. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we’re so sure that we’re right about our relationship because we’re…because we’re in the honeymoon period and we just judge everything to be right?”

Isco took a deep breath. Franco waited what felt like a hundred years but was actually only three seconds.

“No,” Isco said. He didn’t continue.

“Why?” Franco asked.

“Because,” Isco took Franco’s hands in both of his. “Because, Franco. Franco Damian Vazquez. Which part of our relationship has ever been like a honeymoon? Which part of our relationship has ever made us feel like everything is going to be okay? When have we ever felt that everything’s going our way? That’s different from knowing that things _aren’t_ going to be okay but _wanting_ to press on anyway. It’s different. Franco, this relationship has never been easy for either of us. Even from the start – fuck, the start was a fucking nightmare, do you remember? It’s _never_ been easy. But we’re still here. We deserve a little break, Franco. We deserve to feel like we’re unbreakable. Even if it’s just for a tiny bit. We’ve gone through so much already, the so-called ‘honeymoon period’ of our relationship has long passed. It’s long gone. We’ve fought so much and sorted so many things out. We didn’t have a honeymoon period and we sure as fuck aren’t going to have one at all.”

It took a while for Franco to absorb whatever Isco was saying. He gave Isco’s hands a squeeze. “So you don’t think we’re being complacent?”

“No,” Isco said softly. “I mean, the fact that you actually thought about this – doesn’t it already tell you a lot? Your awareness. It tells a lot. It means you aren’t taking things for granted.”

“Yeah?” Franco whispered, suddenly just. Just so relieved he almost burst into tears. “Yeah?”

“C’mere,” Isco said, opening his arms for Franco to dive into. “Look, we’re always gonna have to deal with some shit. It’s good that we know that. The honeymoon period is…it isn’t like that. It’s this warm, hazy feeling that clouds every decision you make. It’s the denial, the refusal to see anything that isn’t good. It’s when you’re too obsessed with the relationship to see the other things in the way. We aren’t like that. The fact that we’re even having this conversation tells you that. Okay?”

“Okay,” Franco breathed into Isco’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t give you a honeymoon period. A good time. I really want to, but I can’t.”

“Hey,” Isco said, pulling Franco’s face out of his shoulder. He sounded a little. A little sad. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Franco.”

“It’s just – just, sometimes I think maybe you’d be better off without me.”

“ _No,_ ” Isco said firmly. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you fucking dare to say that, Vazquez. I love you and I want to be with you no matter what, and my life would be. My life would be absolute shit without you. And I don’t want you to ever think otherwise.”

“Yeah?” Franco whispered.

“I swear on my big bean head.”

Franco smiled. He put his head back where it had been, in Isco’s neck. “I love you,” he mouthed against Isco’s skin.

“I love you, too,” Isco said. He kissed Franco on his temple.

They lay there tangled together for a while. Franco half wanted to let go so Isco could go back to sleep, but half wanted to cling on to Isco like that for the rest of his life.

“Hey,” Franco finally said. “Besides making me feel wanted, you make me feel safe, too.”

Isco gave a soft, adoring chuckle. “Same here.”

Franco closed his eyes, finally relaxed enough to try to go to sleep again. He felt Isco pull away from the hug and tuck Franco comfortably back under the covers. He felt Isco boop him on the nose before kissing it. Then he felt Isco take his hands again and hold them firmly.

“Hey,” he said. “Franco.”

“Hmm?”

“You _are_ nailing it.”

Franco fell asleep smiling.


	27. They Would Be As In Love With You As I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my dudes,  
> I'm sorry again for the inconsistent updates. I'm just feeling better and getting out of my rut so I'm taking my time because I don't want to give you guys shitty chapters lmao. I'm trying my best. Thank you so much in advance for understanding and waiting. I hope you enjoy this long-ass chapter!
> 
> Title is from Angels by The xx.

Real Madrid and Sevilla had to play again just a couple of days later in a league match.

This time, Franco was eligible but Isco’s injury meant that he was still out. So Isco just stayed in Sevilla throughout, and went to the Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán to sit with his team during the match.

Not that it was any difference where he sat, because he spent the entire first sixty-nine – _yes,_ 69 – minutes of the match watching Franco. Alvaro turned from the bench to glare at him now and then. Isco ignored him.

Franco afforded him a small smile when he was substituted out after said sixty-nine minutes. Isco heard a sudden increase in camera clicking sounds, even from right beside him. But he didn’t care. He was so proud of Franco. He wished with all his heart that Franco could see his own worth. Because even Isco could, within the short time he’d known Franco and watched Franco play football.

Sevilla won by two late goals and Franco looked so _happy._ Isco wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. He just. He felt confused and proud and happy and disappointed all at once.

He loitered in the corridor between the home and away dressing rooms, trying to look like he wasn’t specifically waiting for anyone. Some of Franco’s teammates who’d come in earlier than him saw Isco and gave him little friendly smiles as they headed to their locker room. Isco was so glad they did. He and Franco had never talked about their teammates before, which made Isco exceptionally happy that they’d acknowledged him.

When Franco finally appeared, he was talking animatedly to his teammate Matias. He was so engrossed that he didn’t even notice Isco until Matias glanced over. Isco suddenly felt guilty for expecting Franco to just drop everything and entertain him, so he quickly turned and tried to walk away.

He was too late, though, because he saw Franco give a double take from the corner of his eye, and then hesitated for a moment like he was weighing the pros and cons. Then he gathered his bearings and gave Matias two claps on the shoulder before jogging towards Isco, his cleats clattering on the floor. He wrapped his hand gently around Isco’s wrist and pulled him to the corner.

“Hey,” he said softly, then froze again. “Um, were you waiting for me? Shit, were you waiting for someone else? Fuck. I’m – I’m sorry. This is embarrassing.”

Isco burst into laughter. “I’m waiting for you, idiot, who else would I be waiting for?”

“I don’t know,” Franco admitted. A blush was slowly creeping up his neck to join the slight pinkness on his sweaty face and it was so fucking adorable.

“You’re an idiot,” Isco remarked, and Franco smiled in silent agreement. “Reporters?”

“I don’t give a fuck anymore,” Franco whispered, his face inching closer to Isco’s until his lips landed on Isco’s lips.

Isco smiled. Franco’s boots were making him even taller and Isco had to tiptoe to hug him. He wrapped his arms around Franco’s neck and pressed his body against Franco’s, completely absorbed in the way Franco’s mouth was working against his.

“I’m so tired of playing against you,” Franco breathed into Isco’s mouth.

“We didn’t actually play against each other at all,” Isco pointed out. In the three almost-back-to-back Real Madrid-Sevilla games, Franco had been suspended for two and played one; Isco had been injured for two and benched for one. They technically hadn’t played against each other.

“Virtually playing against you,” Franco corrected.

“Yeah,” Isco laughed. “It’s like trying to kill you in my head but fucking you in my heart.”

“You have such a dirty mouth,” Franco said, but kissed it again, anyway.

“You’re sweaty and gross but you don’t hear me complaining.”

Franco chuckled as he pulled away and pressed his sweaty and gross forehead against Isco’s. “I’m always sweaty and gross around you.”

Isco burst into laughter. That wasn’t a lie. The start of their friendship – or whatever that was supposed to be called – had just been them having sex and being sweaty and gross 24/7. “Gross,” Isco said, anyway, and pressed his lips on Franco’s.

Then Isco’s phone buzzed in his pocket, so he reluctantly pulled away from Franco and fished it out.

It was two photos from Alvaro to the group chat.

The first one was Franco and Isco kissing. The second was them with their heads together and smiling. Isco showed them to Franco.

They both turned to their side in unison and saw Alvaro standing down the corridor, phone in his hand and a look on his face that was so smug and proud of himself that Isco wanted to fucking punch it.

But Franco narrowed his eyes at Alvaro and Alvaro scurried away like a timid mouse.

Isco laughed. He turned to Franco and kissed him goodbye. “Gotta go,” he said.

But Franco practically suctioned his lips onto Isco’s and refused to let him go, and Isco poked him in the sides but it didn’t do much except make him giggle, and _Jesus,_ Isco could feel eyes on them and he was simultaneously embarrassed and so fucking fond.

“You know, your teammates smiled at me just now?” Isco whispered.

“Yeah?” Franco asked, and he sounded _overjoyed_. “Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Hey, you wanna meet them for real?” Franco murmured in between soft kisses.

“How?”

“I’ll take you into the locker room.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Is that…” Isco gestured vaguely with his hand. “Okay?”

“Yeah, why not? They’re always introducing their girlfriends to us, anyway. You’re my boyfriend. Shouldn’t make a difference.”

“But I’m also a rival player.”

Franco gestured to Isco’s attire. “You’re not wearing anything that shows you are.”

And Isco. Isco wanted to. Isco wanted to meet Franco’s teammates. He wanted to be Franco’s arm candy at parties. He wanted to stand by Franco’s side in the presence of other people like a normal boyfriend would do.

“You sure it’s cool?” he asked.

“Only if you want to,” Franco promised.

“Okay,” Isco smiled. “I want to.”

So Franco grabbed his hand and pulled him to the home dressing room, stopping at the door only to give Isco one encouraging kiss on the mouth.

A sudden hush descended on the locker room when they both entered. People stopped what they were doing to give curious looks, which had a domino effect on the entire room, and soon everyone was just. Just staring at Isco and Franco.

Isco turned to Franco. He could tell Franco was nervous because – well, because Franco was _always_ nervous and Isco wasn’t going to lie to himself. But also because he had that same look on his face he had when he first went to Isco’s hotel room to tell Isco he wanted a relationship. Or when he came to Isco’s house with a bruise on his eye to tell Isco he loved Isco. Oh, and also, his hand was sweating.

“Uh, guys,” Franco stammered, his voice gentle as usual but seeming especially sharp in the silence. “Hey, guys, this is, uh. My boyfriend. Isco.”

“Hi,” Isco said softly, just so Franco knew he wasn’t alone.

The silence continued for another beat, then the room erupted in a disordered but friendly chorus of ‘hi’ and ‘hello’ and ‘hey.’

Franco turned to Isco and he had this look of absolute _relief_ on his face. He gave Isco a tiny smile.

“Kiss him,” someone coughed from across the room, in an accent that was strikingly similar to Franco’s.

He was quickly identified as Joaquin when everyone turned their heads towards him at the same moment. He raised his eyebrows as a defensive ‘what?’ before he gestured towards Isco and Franco.

“They were about to do it,” he said. “I was speeding up the process.”

Franco gave him a mild glare. He turned back to Isco and started gently pushing him towards the entrance by his shoulders. “Okay, he’s gotta go now, say bye, everyone.”

The room erupted into another asynchronous ‘bye,’ and a random voice saying, “Sorry we kicked your ass today.”

“Hey, you wanna come to mine?” Isco asked as Franco let him go in the corridor.

“Can I?”

“Of course.”

“I’m wearing my jersey.”

Isco didn’t bother answering, just took his sweater off and put it over Franco’s shoulders before grabbing Franco’s hand again and dragging him to the away dressing room. It was like, three-quarters full because the rest were in the showers. He pushed Franco inside ahead of him, and Franco made this little noise while stumbling in, which attracted everyone’s attention. Including Alvaro, who narrowed his eyes in confusion before giving them a warm smile. Franco turned to Isco nervously.

“Everyone,” Isco said, needlessly because by then everyone was already staring at them. He put his hand on Franco’s shoulder. “My boyfriend Franco. Franco, everyone.”

Franco gave a meek wave. The sweater slipped off his shoulder and he looked embarrassed as he pulled it back on to cover the Sevilla crest on his shirt.

There was a chorus of ‘hi’s not unlike the one that had happened in the Sevilla dressing room.

Then Sergio said, softly, eyes wide, “I…don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

“Oh, shut up, Sergio, you’re always showing Pilar off,” Alvaro said before Isco could say a word. “And it’s not illegal to pay visits _after_ the match.”

Sergio narrowed his eyes at Alvaro, then turned back to Isco and Franco. He stared at them for a moment. “Uh, are you related to Lucas?” he finally asked Franco. He pointed at Lucas with his thumb.

Isco burst into laughter and earned himself a curious stare from everybody, including Franco. He couldn’t help it. “That was literally the first thing I asked him when we met,” he finally managed to say.

“Well, it’s a good ice breaker,” Sergio grumbled. “Anyway, nice to meet you,” he said to Franco.

Franco beamed. He turned to Isco again, this time happily.

“Sorry, he’s always cranky like that after we lose,” Isco said.

Franco’s smile grew so fucking big. He gave Isco’s hand a squeeze like he really wanted to kiss Isco but they were literally in the middle of like, twenty other Real Madrid players and Franco was embarrassed. Isco gave it a squeeze back.

Then Lucas came over and started talking to Franco about where he was from, and Isco just stood there holding Franco’s hand – partly because Franco didn’t let him go, and partly because he _loved_ seeing Franco interact with Isco’s friends – and watching Franco. He had this slight pinkness on his face from the minutes he’d played. His damp hair was strewn across his forehead and he used his free hand to sweep it back on his head. His forearm was sticky under Isco’s palm. He smelled like – the entire room was filled with the scent of male sweat but Franco’s had this indescribably unique smell that Isco could identify from a kilometer away.

In the end, Lucas and Franco established that they weren’t related. It was a quick and needless conversation but Isco listened to every word of it. He felt like he was eavesdropping but neither of them seemed to mind.

And then Lucas left and Marco came over and started asking Franco a barrage of questions, and Franco looked so scared and overwhelmed so Isco shoved Marco aside.

“But I wanna talk to him,” Marco said sadly.

“Next time,” Isco told him.

“Can he come to our outings?”

“Not if you’re going to spend the entire time clinging on to him.”

Franco laughed. Marco huffed and went back to his locker next to Alvaro’s.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Franco said once they were alone. Well, mostly alone. As alone as they could be in a room full of people.

“I’m not _jealous,_ ” Isco claimed. “He was being _noisy_.”

“I’m thinking he learnt it from you,” Franco said. He gestured to Isco’s locker. Marco had switched sides and was now sitting on Alvaro’s other side. At Isco’s locker. Like he was waiting to pounce on Isco once Isco got back.

Isco rolled his eyes. He pulled Franco back outside and to that little corner they’d been in earlier, and Franco started kissing him happily so Isco obliged. “So I’ll see you really soon?” he asked between kisses.

“Mmhmm,” Franco smiled. Isco tried to take his sweater back but Franco held on tightly to it. “I need this to cover my boner.”

“What,” Isco said. He wasn’t even surprised anymore.

“Just kidding, I don’t have a boner,” Franco giggled.

“You sure?” Isco asked. He cupped his hand over Franco’s crotch, half to see if he was lying and half to tease.

“No, don’t do that, that’s cheating,” Franco sputtered, backing away.

Isco laughed. He ruffled Franco’s sweaty hair. “Keep the sweater.”

“I’ll wash it and return it to you.”

“Keep it.”

“But will you be cold?” Franco asked. He gave the sweater a sniff. “It doesn’t really stink. Take it back. You’ll be cold.”

Isco tiptoed so he could whisper into Franco’s ear, lips intentionally brushing against his earlobe, “I won’t be if you take me home with you.”

Franco gave this mix of a gasp and a whimper, like he was in disbelief about Isco’s audacity. He grabbed Isco by the waist and pushed Isco against the wall, gently enough not to hurt Isco but hard enough to knock all the breath out of him. He smashed his lips on Isco’s, wet and slightly salty, his tongue forcing its way into Isco’s mouth. And Isco was. He suddenly felt lightheaded.

“You can’t say that to me while looking so fucking hot,” Franco growled.

“So will you?” Isco tiptoed again and wrapped his arms around Franco’s neck. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, yes,” Franco breathed. “Fuck. Now you’ve really given me a boner.”

“You’re so fucking easy.”

“Shut up. Shut up. I can’t go to the shower like this.”

“Just stand here for a while or something,” Isco suggested.

So they just stood there, one and a half feet apart. Franco looked. He looked like a sad German shepherd. He kept wanting to close the gap to kiss Isco but Isco kept pushing him away by the chest.

“I have an idea,” Franco finally whispered after like, fifty times of Isco pushing him away. He probably already had Isco’s handprint dented into his chest.

“What?”

“Do you have extra clothes?”

“Uh,” Isco scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, why?”

“Let’s wait till everyone’s gone, then we can shower here, and you can blow me in the shower.”

“Franco!” Isco exclaimed, slapping him on the chest. “Is that – that’s illegal.”

“No it’s not.”

“Why can’t we just go home and I’ll blow you at home?”

“This is different,” Franco gently nudged Isco in the shoulder. “C’mon. Spice things up.”

“I thought we were spiced up enough,” Isco muttered. “Okay, but only if you blow me too.”

“Deal,” Franco said, beaming like he was super proud that he’d thought of this. Which, well. Isco had had to say it was a pretty interesting idea.

So Franco took off his cleats and they both sat on the floor in their little corner of the corridor, watching as people walked past them to the showers, and then back to the dressing rooms. Franco spent the entire time telling Isco about all the different probes humans had sent to space to study the planets. He even took Isco’s phone and searched for pictures to show him. Soon Isco completely lost track of time and he didn’t even notice that the stream of people walking by them was slowly petering out.

Franco handed him his phone back once he was done blabbering about planets. He sat there, tired and dazed and with this tiny smile on his face, staring at the wall opposite them.

Isco leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Didn’t say anything because he physically _couldn’t_ , Franco’s presence was squeezing his heart so tight Isco couldn’t breathe. He gave Franco a smile when Franco turned to him, their noses touching.

“I love you,” he mouthed.

Franco replied with a soft kiss on Isco’s lips.

Isco took out his phone again to see why it had buzzed. It was a message from Paulo, who had finally seen those photos that Alvaro had sent.

He’d replied with that emoji of the monkey covering its eyes. Isco showed it to Franco and Franco laughed.

Isco decided that it was his favourite sound in the universe and he was going to spend every single day of the rest of his life trying to listen to it.

\------

The dressing rooms finally cleared out just before midnight. Isco and Franco got their butts off the ground and went to grab their clothes from their respective locker rooms. Franco briefly realised that locker room sex was hot, too, if not hotter than shower sex – but then again there were fucking cameras everywhere so Franco dismissed that idea before it even made it out of his mouth.

Franco made it outside with a set of clean clothes and a clean towel, and another towel around his waist. He met Isco in the corridor wearing nothing but underwear.

“Prude,” was how he greeted Franco.

“Pfft,” Franco huffed. He took the towel off and threw it back into the locker room. “You wanna look at my boner, huh? Is that it? You just wanna look at it?”

Isco stared at Franco’s crotch – well, his boner through his underwear – for a while. “You mean – you mean you’ve just been sitting there with me all this while _with a boner_?”

“I have a boner every fucking time I look at you, Isco Alarcon.”

Isco narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or if you’re talking dirty to me.”

And, well. Franco couldn’t tell either. It had all turned into blurred lines. He turned to Isco again and grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanking him forwards until his lips crashed against Franco’s, accompanied by a surprised breath of hot air. Franco’s hand moved down Isco’s back to curl his arm around Isco’s waist, dragging him upwards. Isco jumped and wrapped his legs around Franco’s waist, his own free arm wrapped around Franco’s neck to hold himself up. Franco started carrying him towards the showers.

“You’re so strong,” Isco whispered. “It turns me on.”

“Yeah?” Franco murmured into Isco’s mouth. “What else turns you on?”

“When you shove me around,” Isco said.

So Franco walked straight into the wall and slammed Isco up against it, smiling when Isco grunted from the impact. And he felt. He felt Isco’s dick fucking shifting around in his underwear, and God, Franco was just. Franco felt like he could just come.

“Like that?” he asked, mock-innocently.

Isco didn’t reply, just pressed his lips hungrily on Franco’s. Franco grasped Isco’s thighs and pulled them more tightly around himself, grinding Isco into the wall. Isco gave a whimper, and then just. Just submitted to Franco and let Franco hump him against the wall. Let Franco thrust and slam his back against the wall over and over again, the smacking sounds gradually increasing in volume.

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna come,” he finally said, though.

“Easy fucker,” Franco remarked as he lifted Isco again and continued the short journey to the showers.

“You keep saying that about me,” Isco argued. “You’re easy, too.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“You’re easier than me.”

“Okay, but we’re both easy.”

“Fine. Shut the fuck up.”

“No.”

“I’ll make you.”

Then they reached the showers so Franco put Isco back on the ground and took off his own underwear, thinking if he got his dick in Isco’s mouth then Isco would stop talking.

But Isco just. He took off his own underwear and _walked away_ , he walked towards the showerheads, picked one, and turned it on, standing under it with his back facing Franco like a fucking _tease_ , and holy _fuck_ , Franco had this sudden urge to just go over and fucking choke him. Not in the murderous way, but. In the sexual way. Or maybe with his dick in Isco’s mouth. Or maybe he wanted to choke on Isco’s dick. Either way, he wanted it.

Franco walked over to join him, popping briefly under the shower stream to wet himself before turning Isco around roughly with one hand and pushing him against the wall. Isco gasped as his breath escaped him, and then set both his palms flat against the tiled wall he was leaning on, a mischievous smile slowly creeping across his face like he was just _waiting_ for Franco to make his move.

So Franco did. He used his body to press Isco’s against the wall, his hands grasping Isco’s jaw to tilt his face upwards. Isco’s lips parted to allow entry of Franco’s tongue into his mouth – _God,_ his pretty fucking mouth – as his hands moved to clutch Franco’s waist. The water was just bouncing off the top of Franco’s head and splashing on the both of them, and everything was wet and slippery and for some reason it managed to turn Franco on even further.

Franco pulled Isco away from the wall and back under the water stream. He took Isco’s hands off his waist and intertwined their fingers, his lips tracing their way down Isco’s jaw and neck, down his chest, his squishy abdomen, and then stopping at his v-line because, well. Because his dick was so hard it couldn’t possibly not hurt.

“You’re so fucking hard,” Franco muttered. “See? And you say you’re not easy.”

“Fuck you,” Isco said, letting go of one of Franco’s hands to give Franco’s hair a tug. “You’re hard too.”

“Yeah, but mine was like, gradual,” Franco said. “A gradual boner. Yours is like. It’s an immediate boner.”

“Just shut up,” Isco groaned. “Just shut the fuck up and fucking blow me.”

Franco laughed. He adjusted his knees under him and used his free hand to cup Isco’s balls, teasing him for a while before curling his fingers around Isco’s dick when Isco gave his hair an impatient pull. He slowly lowered his lips over Isco’s tip, not helping but smile when a shiver rocked Isco’s body and caused him to nudge his dick further into Franco’s mouth. It slid in easily, aided by the shower.

Franco began to bob his head up and down, his hand simultaneously working on the base of Isco’s dick and his balls. He felt Isco start to guide his head, hips thrusting towards Franco’s face at the same time. So Franco removed Isco’s dick and looked up at him and said, “No.”

Isco gave a tiny whimper. He let go of Franco’s hair and Franco’s hand and held his arms above his head like he was saying, “Okay you take over.”

Franco couldn’t control the smile that burst onto his face. He stood up, much to Isco’s dismay, and kissed Isco on the lips.

“Just kidding,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

The smile returned to Isco’s face. He pressed his lips on Franco’s first, hard and eager and _so teethy_ , biting down on Franco’s bottom lip. He nudged Franco’s shoulders until Franco was backed up against the wall, then he pushed down on them until Franco got it and sat down on the floor himself.

So Isco wanted to fuck Franco’s face.

Franco was fine with that. He was _more than fine_ with that. He leaned his head back on the wall and waited for Isco to slide his dick back into Franco’s mouth. Which, again, was easy because of how wet it all was, despite them having shifted back out of the stream. Franco made sure to occasionally glance over at the door to make sure no one was going to bust them with their asses out.

Isco opened his legs and stepped forward so his feet were close to the wall on either side of Franco. Franco wrapped his arms under and around them as Isco began to thrust again, softly, like he was afraid Franco would choke. Although, well. Franco could literally choke to death and he wouldn’t care. Choking to death on Isco’s dick was the only way to go. He tried telling Isco that but failed for obvious reasons.

Anyway, it didn’t matter because Isco began to go faster and harder, pressing his palms and cheek on the wall above Franco and giving little groans of arousal. Franco sucked hard on his tip and the groans became louder. He unsheathed his teeth and ran them gently down Isco’s length as Isco thrusted, and the groans turned into a cry that Franco wasn’t sure was of pain or pleasure, only that he liked the sound of it.

It was obvious that Isco was going for a quickie, nothing fancy – just like he had from day one because he was easy and refused to admit it – so Franco didn’t stop him even when he went so hard and quick that he started hitting the back of Franco’s throat and Franco was pretty sure he would get dick blisters had it not been the shower. And Franco felt a gag coming on so he let Isco fuck into his cheek instead, and Isco’s hands had moved to Franco’s hair and were currently violently tugging it around so Franco quickly shifted Isco’s dick to the centre of his mouth, running his tongue teasingly over Isco’s slit. He took a second to swallow his spit, hollowing his cheeks at the same time and sucking hard on Isco’s cock.

And Isco. Isco came so violently and loudly that Franco was almost sure there were going to be security guards barging in any moment. He hurriedly retrieved his dick from between Franco’s lips and started stroking himself off over Franco’s face, gasping for breath as Franco whispered ‘yes, yes, yes,’ with every drop of come that landed on his forehead, on his nose, on his cheeks, and into his open mouth.

Isco looked so fucking _pleased_ with himself and with Franco when he was finished. Instead of just doing it the easy way and pushing Franco under the shower to get him clean, he collected all the come on Franco’s face with his fingers before pushing them into Franco’s mouth, and _God_ , it was so hot Franco could feel himself bursting at the seams.

Isco finally pulled Franco to his feet and, without any further word or warning, got down on his knees in front of Franco. He gave Franco’s – embarrassingly rock hard – dick a few strokes with his small hand before sheathing his teeth and sliding his lips down Franco’s length. And Franco just. Just looked down at the back of his head as it bobbed up and down, at the little clumps of his hair that smacked against his ears as he moved. At his hands as they moved away from Franco’s crotch area and rested on Franco’s thighs. At the contrast in size between Isco’s hands and the area of Franco’s legs, even though Franco had lean legs.

And then, not because he was _easy_ but because he’d had to sit there for like an hour talking to Isco while simultaneously wanting to fuck him until he cried for help – Franco came. That was all it took, just a couple minutes of Isco’s lips. He came on Isco’s face and Isco just knelt there and took it mostly on his cheeks, gasping for air and struggling to make eye contact with Franco while avoiding the droplets of water that kept falling in his eye and. And just being totally fucking adorable.

Franco scooped him up on his feet and gently shoved him under the shower stream so the come on his face was washed off. Isco pulled him along, giving him a smile before keening upwards to kiss him.

“Before you say I’m easy,” Franco murmured, resting his forearms on Isco’s shoulders. His voice was a little hoarse from all the fucking deep-throating and Isco gave him a soft smile and placed his hand on Franco’s throat like he thought it’d help. “I had to spend a whole hour looking at you while I had a fucking boner.”

“Thinking how you’d like to fuck me?” Isco asked, his smile growing.

“I’m always thinking about how I’d like to fuck you.”

Isco laughed and leaned his cheek on Franco’s chest. “You know on our first night together, I told you I’m always thinking about sex?”

“Yeah?” Franco said. Because Isco was a little minx and Franco never forgot it.

“I still do, except that. Except that now I’m just thinking about sex with you and it’s better this way.”

Franco smiled. He pushed Isco’s head further into his chest as Isco hugged him tight. They stood hugging under the shower for a while, swaying gently side to side like they were slow dancing to an unheard rhythm.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” Franco whispered after there was no other movement from Isco for like, five whole minutes.

“You’re comfortable,” Isco said sleepily.

“There’s literally a shower pelting down on you.”

“Still comfortable.”

Franco sighed. He peeled Isco off him and reached for the shower gel, lathering it in his hands before spreading it over Isco’s shoulders and abdomen. He scrubbed Isco clean and tugged him under the shower again so he could get washed off. Isco just stood there gazing over fondly as Franco scrubbed all the sweat and dirt off himself.

Then they rinsed themselves off and left the showers, because honestly it was getting creepy especially with only one row of lights on. They walked quietly back to the locker rooms, everything silent except for the sound of their plastic bathroom slippers smacking against the ground. They parted briefly to collect their things, then Franco brought Isco home like he’d promised.

Alas, there was no more sex to be had when they got home because Franco was tired and Isco was. Well, Isco was just lazy. He stripped himself all the way to his underwear and got into Franco’s bed, like that was just his silent argument that he had no clothes on and was therefore clean. Franco made him put on one of his t-shirts before climbing into bed in his own pyjamas.

But no sex was fine, too. Isco just snuggled up into Franco’s arms with a smile, and Franco just. Isco just wanted to be held and loved and Franco was willing to give him that. Maybe Franco hadn’t been this willing six months ago, but now he was, and now that he’d started, he wanted to hold and love Isco forever.

\------

Their special La Liga interview was finally rescheduled for two days after that Real-Sevilla match, so Isco and Franco took the train back to Madrid together.

“Our first train ride together,” Isco remarked as they took their seats, Franco near the window and Isco near the aisle.

“Yeah,” Franco said absentmindedly. He was more entertained by the scenery. “Train blowjob?”

“No, fuck you,” Isco smacked him hard on the shoulder. “I meant, it’s kinda weird that we take the train to see each other all the time but we’ve never actually taken it together.”

“Yeah,” Franco said again. “Well, we did in 2009.”

“It’s different. I didn’t even know you.”

“Still took a train with me.”

“Fuck off. I’m trying to make this romantic.”

“Aren’t you romantic enough?” Franco booped him on the nose with his finger before kissing him on the lips. “Hmm? You’re the romantic one in this relationship.”

“True,” Isco said, contented. He leaned over, all up in Franco’s personal space, and leaned his head on Franco’s shoulder. “Hey. This interview…this is it, right? It’s not…gonna be cancelled or whatever again. Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Franco kissed him on the top of his head. He knew Isco was insecure about this. Franco was, too, himself. Strangely, it calmed him to know that Isco felt the same way. It felt like there was someone in it with him. “I love you,” Franco said, for good measure.

“I love you,” Isco whispered.

Then he closed his eyes as the train began to move, and Franco thought he’d fallen asleep but he hadn’t because he suddenly asked with his eyes still closed, “Haven’t you already looked at this scenery like, a hundred times? What’s so nice about it?”

“I don’t know,” Franco said.

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t like missing out on things,” Franco said. “I don’t mean like, parties or whatever crap. Or events. Fuck, you know me. I’d rather miss all of those. I just. I don’t like missing…sights. Things that I can see with my own eyes. Like, so many people take this for granted, you know? But this is our home. The earth is our home. Look at all these lame trees and bushes and fields. This is our home. And they look different, they’ve changed fifty times since I first started taking the train to see you in like, July or whenever. But the thing is with these things…you don’t notice them changing. Like one day you look at them again and they’re suddenly bigger or smaller or they’re just not there. And you can’t say the exact day that it changed because it happened so gradually. It changes every single day. It’s just. Everything’s so fleeting, you know? I don’t want to miss a second of it. I like to know when it changed or when it started to change. I like knowing as close a date as possible. And I’m not making any sense now so I’ll stop talking.”

Isco gave a soft chuckle. “You’re making sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. That’s how I feel about Junior. That I don’t want to miss the tiniest thing.”

“He’s your home.”

“But I’m away from him so often and sometimes it worries me that I’ll miss something big.”

“Hey,” Franco nudged Isco’s head off his shoulder. “You’re trying. That’s what matters.”

“Is it all that matters, though?” Isco asked. “If I try and I still miss it…then _I still miss it._ ”

“It’s better than not trying and then regretting missing it. Isco. This is your life and you’re living it. I know it isn’t fair for you to give up football for Junior or to give up Junior for football. No one’s asking you to. You shouldn’t ask that of yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You care about him. He can tell. Kids can always tell.”

Isco smiled and tucked his face into Franco’s shoulder again. “Thank you.”

“You’re the greatest dad in the world, Isco Alarcon.”

“And you’re the wisest man in the universe, Franco Vazquez.”

“Aren’t we a good match, then?”

“The best.”

Instead of going back to snoozing Isco got up and went across the table to the seat in front of Franco’s and sat facing him. Then he curled up into it and watched the greenery fly past them just like Franco was. He removed his shoes after receiving one of Franco’s death glares, and even pretended to wipe the seat cushion just to satisfy Franco. 

Franco settled with looking out the window again, but Isco got restless literally ten minutes later and wandered back to his original seat, curling up into it without his shoes and watching Franco watch the outside go by.

“Creep,” Franco said without turning.

“You’re very handsome,” Isco said softly.

Franco turned and managed a shaky smile. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But you are,” Isco said, getting all up in Franco’s personal space again and giggling. “Aww, are you shy? You’re shy.”

“I’m not,” Franco retorted.

“You are,” Isco smiled. He traced Franco’s cheek with his finger. “You know, when you blush or when you sweat, you have a pink spot on your cheek that’s shaped like a heart?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s the cutest thing. Your blush is heart-shaped.”

“Your ass is heart shaped.”

Isco burst into laughter. “Is that how you sweet-talk me? That’s not how you sweet-talk someone.”

“Oh, really?” Franco challenged. “You know what else is heart-shaped? Peaches. Peaches are heart-shaped. And peaches are sweet. So your ass is sweet as well. Technically, I’m sweet-talking you.”

Isco shoved Franco in the shoulder and giggled, but didn’t say anything, like he’d conceded to Franco. He just sat there leaned over the armrest with his arm hooked into Franco, and it looked like an uncomfortable position to be in but Isco didn’t seem to mind.

And then, despite being all hyperactive just a few minutes ago, Isco fell asleep on Franco’s arm.

Franco sighed. His boyfriend was a pig. Except he was cuter than a pig.

Franco shifted so Isco was in a more comfortable position, not leaned so far over to his side. He smiled when Isco grabbed on to his arm more tightly and pushed his face into it, like it was a teddy.

He took out his phone and took a photo of them both, posting it to his Instagram story with an emoji of a pig followed by a red heart.

“Love you,” he whispered.

Isco didn’t reply except to smile in his sleep, but that was enough for Franco.

\------

They headed down to La Liga HQ not knowing exactly what to expect. They’d had a brief conference call with Paulo and Alvaro but even their recount wasn’t accurate, because their press conference was all official and shit and this was just some entertainment video.

“That’s good though, that you guys don’t have to like, announce it,” Paulo had said. “Now it’s something fun.”

“Yeah, we did it for you, lazy fuckers,” Alvaro had said.

And then Franco had glared at the phone and Isco had spent three whole minutes laughing.

They were given their respective club jerseys upon arrival, and were given some privacy to change into them. So they did, leaving their black jeans on. Isco wore the white Madrid home kit, which meant Franco wore the red Sevilla away kit. Franco made some salty remark about how he looked better in red, anyway, so he was whatever. Isco knew he was secretly still bitter about having to come to Madrid to do this.

“You look weird,” Isco said after Franco had changed and was adjusting his hair in the mirror, the vain turd.

“Why?” Franco asked, hurt.

“Jersey with jeans.”

“Well, you have the same outfit on, so you look weird too.”

Isco huffed. He started adjusting his hair alongside Franco, because he surely wasn’t going to look like a disheveled idiot next to the most handsome man in the world. Maybe a moderately disheveled idiot would be acceptable.

“Hey,” Isco said as they started walking out the room when the PR guy came to fetch them. “You know those stars you’re always talking about?”

“Yeah?”

Isco pointed at Franco’s shirt, then at his own. “Red giant and white dwarf.”

And Franco. Franco burst into loud booming laughter, laughter that reverberated around the corridor and made everyone within five meters of them turn to stare. Including the PR guy, who gave a little jump in shock.

Franco grabbed Isco and hugged him close. “I don’t know why I’m in love with you,” he said in between gleeful laughter.

“Me neither,” Isco confessed. He got a kiss on the lips from Franco, anyway. “Maybe ‘cause I always listen to your nerdy rambling.”

“That’s definitely it,” Franco said, and then leaned in and said more softly, “And also because you have a cute ass and a cute face and cute lips I want to smooch forever.”

Isco laughed. He was glad Franco was more open to PDA now. Not that PDA was something good, but. Isco was just glad that Franco was willing to be more open.

Anyway, they made it to the media room and were told to sit on a couch in front of a grey curtain. Franco made a low comment about how romantic it looked and Isco burst into laughter, and everyone stared at them again. Which was good practice, because there were like, five cameras pointed at the couch from different angles.

They sat on the couch, Franco more cautiously than Isco. They were given clip-on microphones and their faces were gently brushed with some face powder or whatever, Isco didn't know nor care. The lights began flickering around them, like the people were trying to figure out the best configuration so Isco and Franco would look good. They were handed an iPad, which Isco took because Franco suddenly looked terrified.

“You okay?” Isco asked.

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. “Just a little…nervous.”

“It’s okay,” Isco said softly. He grabbed Franco’s sweaty hand and squeezed it. “It’s just something fun. Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

“What if they ask me something I can’t answer?”

“Then I’ll answer it for you. Promise.”

Franco glanced nervously at Isco, then at the iPad. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isco leaned in and kissed Franco softly on his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Franco mouthed.

“So you guys ready?” the PR guy – a different one – asked from the chair opposite them. He had a friendly smile on his face that seemed to calm Franco further. When Isco and Franco nodded, he said, “My name’s Nico.”

Franco gave a soft chuckle. “That’s – that’s my brother’s name.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Nicolas.”

“Well, I’m honoured,” Nico said, and Franco beamed. “I’d just like you guys to refer to the iPad when I tell you to, we have a photo album set up for you. Just swipe left when I tell you.”

“Okay,” Isco said.

“All five cameras will be recording at once and we’ll edit the footage later. This should be candid and fun, but we’ll try to keep it PG, okay? So no swearing. Unless absolutely necessary. And we’ll bleep that out if that’s the case.”

“And anything that’s, uh, off the record?” Isco asked.

“Just say it’s off the record and it’ll be off the record.”

“Okay,” Isco said again. He turned to Franco. “I think…we’re ready.”

Franco nodded, not at Nico but at Isco.

“We’ll start off with some basic questions, then you’ll be answering some questions that fans sent in,” Nico said, then he made a gesture with his hand and there were several clicking sounds. “Cameras rolling.”

The first question they were asked was, of course, about how they’d met.

“We sort of met, like, three times?” Isco said. “Uh, once in 2009, same as Paulo and Alvaro.”

“Yeah,” Franco started softly, but his voice gained some traction as he spoke, though he was still leaning forward anxiously while Isco was leaning back on the couch all relaxed. “And then because of Paulo and Alvaro, we sort of…we just sort of knew each other? I mean, I probably spoke like, five words to this dude, but I always knew some things about him because Alvaro told Paulo and then Paulo told me. So it’s like. It sort of feels like I’ve known him forever.”

“Then we met at that party,” Isco said. “Paulo’s party.”

“That was like, four years ago?”

“Yeah, four years ago, and then we talked a little more. Just a little more. You know this one. _El Mudo._ ”

“Then we met officially,” Franco said. “Officially? If you want to call it that. It was at Paulo and Alvaro’s press conference. They’d invited us and we didn’t really know what we were supposed to do there so we just hung out a bit. Went out sightseeing and stuff.”

“And we just remained friends after that. We spent the summer together. I wasn’t at the Euros and…yeah. We went on vacation together and we got closer.”

“And your decision to move to Seville?” Nico asked Franco. “Did it have anything to do with Isco?”

Isco turned to Franco to see if he was okay enough to answer this. He was.

“Actually, uh,” Franco gave a little sheepish laugh. “I was with him. We were in Vegas when I got the call from my agent saying they were ready to go ahead once I approved. And I was already set, I’d already made up my mind about trying something new. I was just hesitating because…because Italy is my second home. I’m half-Italian. It would mean I was leaving home again. But then I looked at Isco and I thought, yeah. Maybe if I had to leave home, Spain was a good place to start. Because I…I had him. Like, a friend in Spain. Even though we were going to be in different cities. I just…it felt good to know that I had him there. And that…I could be closer to him. So yeah. I guess you could say it had something to do with Isco.”

Isco smiled. He’d never heard this part of the story before. It made him simultaneously proud and embarrassed.

“You can stop fluffing up your feathers now,” Franco said to him.

Isco laughed and punched him on the shoulder. He leaned forward so he wasn’t leaning on the back of the couch. “Shut up,” he said, puckering his lips. “Kiss.”

Franco gave him a quick, shy kiss.

Nico laughed. “So you mentioned Paulo and Alvaro. Are you guys in regular contact?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m in the same team as Alvaro,” Isco said.

“Paulo and I always know what’s going on in each other’s lives.”

“They always talk about each other. It’s never-ending. Like, I know things I don’t even want to know.”

“And we have a group chat. It’s chaotic.”

“I guess…I guess if not for Paulo and Alvaro, the both of us wouldn’t be here today,” Isco said. “We honestly owe everything to them. I mean, just look at what they’ve done. They’re…honestly, they’re the bravest people we know. They paved the way not only for us but for so many young people out there who look up to them. And their journey has been so long and tedious and sometimes it looked to us like there would never be a happy ending, but look at them. They’re happy now and that…that makes us really happy, too.”

“Do you think you’re having the same impact on these youths and on people in general?” Nico asked.

“We hope so,” Isco said earnestly. “We’ve got mixed reactions to our relationship, up until now, but that’s what we expected. There are always going to be people who question us or who don’t understand us. What we wish for is not for them to understand this immediately. What we wish is that…maybe, that they _try_ to understand. Because this is a journey. It’s a journey for them as much as it is a journey for us. It doesn’t just happen in one day. And we understand that there will always be people who are against this but what we wish to focus on is the people we are positively affecting.”

“What would you like to say to these people who look up to you as role models?”

There was a long pause. Isco turned to Franco to see if he had anything to say.

“Be yourselves,” Franco finally said. “I think that was what Paulo and Alvaro said at their press conference, too. Don’t be afraid to be yourselves. Don’t be afraid of new feelings, new emotions, new experiences. Don’t pressure yourself into conforming to what society tells you to. Because you are who you are, and not who society demands you become.”

Isco smiled. He was so _fucking proud_ of his Franco. “And don’t worry about definitions,” he added. “Because some things – some feelings – can’t be defined. And they’re best that way. You don’t need to have a name or a definition for who you are or what you’re feeling – as long as you know it yourself. Discovering yourself is more important than defining yourself. But of course, do what you want. If you’d prefer a definition, then do that. My point is, you be what you want.”

Franco laughed. “Yeah, I mean, this guy’s always been whatever the heck he wants, and he’s still lovely.”

“Wow, shut up,” Isco shoved him in the shoulder. “Are you flirting with me on camera? You’re flirting with me on camera.”

Franco stared into one of the front cameras like he’d just remembered there were cameras. Then he turned to Isco and narrowed his eyes.

“Five whole cameras captured that,” Isco said.

“Of course five _whole_ cameras captured that,” Franco grumbled. “Half-cameras can’t capture no shit.”

God, Franco was so fucking annoying.

“Anyway,” Nico said, laughing again. He really seemed to be extremely entertained by Isco and Franco. “Let’s continue with the questions.”

“Yup,” Isco and Franco said in unison, immediately obedient.

“How have your friends and family reacted? And your teammates? Are they supportive?”

“They’ve been very supportive, yes,” Isco said, because Franco seemed dumbstruck for some reason. “We’ve met each other’s parents and siblings and they’re happy as long as we’re happy.”

Isco turned to Franco, waiting for him to take his turn. Franco remained quiet, but stared at Isco with this incredibly worried gaze.

Then Isco realised. He realised that Franco had never mentioned his boss ever talking to him about this or his teammates mentioning it to him. Franco had always just been left alone to deal with this, to decide what he was going to do, to stay strong against the public eye. No one had ever taught him or guided him or told him what to expect in terms of the club. Isco had Alvaro at least, and Zidane had already acknowledged it verbally with him. Franco had no one. He couldn’t speak for anyone.

Isco realised how alone Franco probably felt.

“I guess you could say our clubs have been welcoming of us, too,” Isco continued so there wouldn’t be an extended silence. Franco tightened his hand around Isco’s. “Our teammates know about this and who knows, maybe we’ll get to tag along to each other’s outings next time. It’s still quite new to everyone but they’re all very supportive and we’re very thankful.”

He saw Franco's shoulders heave in relief, followed by his own heart settling.

“Who made the first move?”

Franco and Isco turned to each other again, then back to Nico.

“It was kinda…neither of us,” Franco said, and Isco was glad that he could at least bring himself to speak again.

“We just fell into it all at once, together,” Isco finished. “Didn’t see it coming.”

“Had you been together long before you came out?”

“No, maybe a couple of weeks,” Isco said.

“What made you decide to come out? And with such a sophisticated photo on Instagram, too.”

“It was,” Franco gave a little laugh. “It’s kinda. Silly. We just wanted to be able to walk on the street together and not have to pretend that we’re just two guys on a walk. We wanted to…hold hands.”

“We actually just wanted to go out on the street holding hands,” Isco continued. “But then we decided maybe it’d be better if…like, we said it ourselves first. To make it absolutely clear. So we took that photo and posted it before going out.”

“That’s a great idea,” Nico said.

“Thanks,” Franco smiled.

“We know it came as a shock – a huge shock compared to Paulo and Alvaro,” Isco said. “Because we know with them…there was already some stuff rolling about in the media about the two of them. But with us it was…it was a clean slate. I mean, it wasn’t like we ever had any reason to know each other or be friends. Except that we play in the same league, which doesn’t really count as a reason because it only happened so recently. So we wanted to show that…that this is normal. That the two of us coming out can just be as simple and normal as a single photo. It’s just as simple as if two other people got together. Because this relationship is just like any other relationship, gay or straight, footballer or non-footballer. We wanted to show that this should just be as normal as any other relationship because we’re also people, we’re two people in love and wanting to be in a relationship. There’s no wrong in that.”

“Beautiful,” Nico beamed. “Okay, now for the iPad.”

Isco picked up the iPad from the couch seat next to him. He unlocked it and held it in between him and Franco. The screen was opened to a photo in the camera roll, a screenshot of a tweet from a fan.

“We asked fans to send in questions for the both of you using the hashtag _askFrancisco_ , and we’ve chosen some of them for you to answer.”

“Wait,” Franco said. “Why is it ask Francisco? That’s biased, what about me?”

“No,” Nico said. “Francisco is like…it’s a combination of Franco and Isco.”

Franco and Isco’s heads immediately shot so quickly towards each other that Isco was worried they’d have whiplash. Their mouths fell open in unison and they must’ve looked like some quirky cartoon characters.

“ _Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,_ ” they both said loudly, and then burst into laughter. “You made a name for us!” Isco exclaimed.

“Honestly, it wasn’t that difficult,” Nico said. “It’s like, begging to be used.”

And Franco was just completely _speechless_ and he was just sitting there with his mouth still slightly open and it made Isco laugh again. Isco nudged him in the ribs. “Hey, our name is _my name_.”

“Shut up,” Franco sputtered. “Just. Shut up. This is. I don’t know. This is –“

“Cool?” Isco finished.

“Cool,” Franco said. “We’re _you_. What the fuck! That’s like, some philosophical shit.”

“Okay, I’m cool, we’ve established that, now can you chill so we can move on?”

“I’m chill,” Franco claimed. “I’m so chill. _You_ chill.”

Isco rolled his eyes and turned back to the iPad. He read out the question, “What is the hardest part of your relationship?”

A short pause, then Isco turned to Franco and whispered, “I wanna say my dick, can I say my dick?”

Franco turned and gave him the most furious glare _ever_ , but it failed to scare Isco and instead made him burst into laughter. Franco looked helplessly at Nico, and then back at the iPad. He didn’t shift when Isco flopped over on his shoulder in laughter, just let Isco lean on him.

“ _The biggest challenge,_ ” Franco said, glancing pointedly at Isco, who started laughing again. “Of our relationship. It’s probably that…we’ve never lived in the same city. Not once even if you look at it since 2009. From the start of our friendship, to our relationship, to right now…I’ve only gotten to wake up next to him or in the same place as him for more than two days in a row two times, during our summer vacation and during our winter vacation. We don’t get to just hang around for one whole day not having to think about the fact that the other person has to leave the next morning. We don’t get to…to actually hold each other’s hand or see each other in the flesh before a three hour train ride. We’ve never gotten the chance. Our relationship…the hardest part would have to be the distance. Since the very beginning, it’s been the distance.”

Franco turned to Isco again, who had his cheek still pressed against Franco’s shoulder but was now looking down at their hands, which had found their way together and were softly intertwined next to the iPad. Isco was softly stroking the meat of Franco’s thumb with his own thumb, thinking about. Thinking about how far he always had to be from Franco and how it always gave him that awful sinking feeling in his chest. Franco gave his hand a little squeeze and Isco turned to look up at him. He gave a tiny smile.

“But we made it work,” Isco said softly. “I mean, it’s difficult, but…but we’re independent. We still lead our own individual lives and we just try to make it work, we try to visit each other whenever we can. And we made it work. I think that’s most important.”

“So the biggest challenge isn’t that you play in the same league?” Nico asked.

“No,” Isco said. “I mean, we knew that this would immediately cause some controversy. But that has never been an issue. Our private lives are private and what’s on the pitch is a completely different thing.”

“Okay, next question,” Nico said with an encouraging smile, gesturing for them to swipe left.

“Does Franco get along with Isco Jr?” Franco read.

Isco burst into laughter. “’Course he does,” he said, poking Franco in the cheek.

“I think he likes me better,” Franco said earnestly.

“Yeah, ‘cause you let him do whatever he wants.”

“I _don’t. You_ let him do whatever he wants.”

“Well, he likes you for some reason.”

“Because I’m _lovable_.”

Isco glared at him for a while, then turned back to Nico. “They hang out every time they can. Franco’s great at taking care of Junior. Sometimes I think, when we visit each other, that the both of them are happier to see each other than they are to see me.”

“Someone’s jealous,” Franco sang.

“I’m _not_ ,” Isco retorted, then continued, “Junior loves him. He gets crabby when Franco isn’t around.”

“Really?” Franco asked, his voice wavering due to how touched he was. “He does?”

Isco nodded. “And you know he’s never usually crabby.”

Franco smiled, looking absolutely proud of himself. He turned to Nico and beamed at him, like that was enough of an answer to the question. Nico gestured for them to swipe.

“Do the two of you wish to play together one day?” Isco read.

“Yeah,” Franco said softly, barely hesitating. “I mean, it’s a big dream but…it’s not too far-fetched. Maybe it’s at Sevilla, maybe it’s at Real Madrid, or maybe it’s somewhere completely different – but wherever it may be, I hope one day I get to play together with Isco.”

Isco found himself speechless, for once. He just gazed over at Franco and he found himself unable to say anything. He never knew Franco wanted to play with him. He never thought that Franco actually thought about it. And now that he knew, he realised he wanted it too.

“I do, too,” Isco finally said, softly. “You know, we actually did play together once? During training camp in 2009.”

Franco chuckled. “Yeah, we did pretty well.”

“One on the left and one on the right,” Isco smiled. “We kicked ass.”

“Maybe we could do that again one day,” Franco said gently. He gave Isco’s hand another squeeze.

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He smiled and Franco smiled back and Isco felt his insides turn liquid.

“Next question, please,” Nico said softly, like he was afraid to interrupt their moment.

Isco reluctantly tore his gaze away from Franco and swiped the iPad screen. “Who’s the better cook?”

At the exact same moment, Isco pointed to Franco and Franco pointed to himself.

“I’m in charge of the food, he’s in charge of the entertainment,” Franco said.

“Did Franco choose the number 22 on purpose to match Isco?” the next question read.

Isco immediately turned to Franco and said triumphantly, “See! People think you’re copying me, too!” He turned to Nico. “That’s what I said when he told me he was taking 22.”

“ _No,_ I did _not,_ ” Franco sighed. “22 is my favourite number. It’s my birthday. It just happened that it was also Isco’s number. I would’ve taken 20, my number at Palermo, but Vitolo had it.”

The next question read, “How was it like playing against each other?”

Isco gave a small laugh. He remembered that day, the UEFA Super Cup, 9th August 2016 in Norway. The day everything fell apart but also the day that had made everything possible.

“It was…overwhelming,” Franco said, which got Isco all-ears because he realised he’d never actually heard Franco’s side of the story. “I mean, we hadn’t been in a relationship yet in August, but it was – our friendship was very special. So playing against Isco, like both of us physically out there on the pitch, it was – yeah. It was pretty overwhelming. Like, I wouldn’t do it again if I had the choice.”

“You know saying that’s going to prevent you from being selected the next time, right?” Isco asked softly.

Franco turned and stared at him for a moment. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah. It’s whatever the boss wants to do, anyway.”

“What about you, Isco?” Nico asked.

“Yeah, it was, yeah,” Isco shrugged. “I mean, you know, this idiot scored.”

“I did,” Franco said proudly.

“And like he said our friendship was very special. So it was kinda like, I wanted him to do well but I also, of course, wanted my team to win. But you know, I think it turned out fine in the end –“

“That’s easy for _you_ to say.”

“– because we ended up being pretty professional about it. It didn’t…you know, make us do things that we shouldn’t have done. Like score an own goal or some crap.”

Then Nico made them swipe again, and there was a two-minute long video of very specifically chosen highlights of the Super Cup match. They were made to watch it together, so they settled back on the couch and Isco made Franco hold the iPad because his hand was getting tired, and Franco grumbled a little but did it anyway.

The video was basically just a summary of all the times Franco and Isco had interacted throughout the match, which was barely. It started off with them in the tunnel and glaring at Alvaro for making that stupid _Fran_ joke, and then cut to the moments when Isco was very unsuccessfully trying to mark Franco from the front. Franco started laughing halfway through because it really did look like Isco was just mimicking all of Franco’s moves, and there was once where Isco just turned three times in a row to look at Franco, who was also turning to look behind him, and they had to pause because Franco couldn’t stop laughing and calling Isco a copycat.

“What the fuck!” Franco said suddenly, about seven seconds after they’d clicked play again. He rewound the video a few seconds. “Did you freaking call me out for this handball? You called me out to the ref!”

It was Isco’s turn to burst into laughter. “It was a reflex!”

“You raised your stupid hand! The ref wouldn’t have blown me!”

“You know what I thought when the ref blew his whistle?”

“What?!”

“That I’d blow you for a handball, too.”

Franco turned and. And _glared_ at Isco, but he had this smile that was threatening to burst out, so Isco coaxed it out by grinning at Franco.

“What the fuck!” Franco finally said.

“If you get what I mean.”

“No!”

“No? Like I could blow you and you could give me a hand –“

“As in no, I get it, but no! Shut up, oh my God!”

“It’s funny!” Isco retorted, then. “ _Wait,_ are the cameras still rolling? Shit, the cameras are rolling.”

Franco burst into loud, howling laughter and flopped over on the other end of the couch. “It’s caught on camera,” he whimpered, laughing so hard there might as well have been tears running down his cheeks.

“You’re not going to use that, are you?” Isco hurriedly asked a very amused Nico.

“Definitely not,” Nico said.

“And like, maybe you could pretend you didn’t hear it.”

“I think the entire room is gonna pretend we didn’t hear it, Isco.”

Franco started laughing even more loudly, and Isco smacked him hard on the arm. “It’s all your fault!”

“You’d blow me for a handball,” Franco choked.

“Well, not anymore.”

“C’mon, don’t be mad,” Franco said, finally sitting up again and puckering his lips at Isco even though Isco didn’t oblige. “C’mon.”

“Don’t be mad,” Isco said in a dramatization of Franco’s voice. He said in his normal voice, “I’m not mad.”

“If you say so, baby,” Franco sneaked a kiss on his cheek, then pressed the play button.

Then came Franco’s equalizer, and right after Franco’s celebration the camera had turned to Isco looking up at the heavens and very obviously trying not to smile.

“Aww, you were happy for me!” Franco cooed, gently slapping Isco on the cheek. “Awwwwww!”

“Shut up!” Isco jabbed him in the ribs, embarrassed because, well. He hadn’t been aware he was this _obvious._ “Shut up, shut up.”

Franco shut up but just kept grinning like a happy little boy. He tapped the play button on the video and it immediately showed Isco’s two quickfire attempts at goal followed by Franco giving him a violent glare from the distance.

Isco burst into laughter. “Why’re you so mad?”

“You were trying to steal my thunder!”

“I wasn’t! I was just trying to score! See?” he told Nico. “This is what I meant by feeling conflicted.”

Franco gave a huff and continued watching the video. The rest of it wasn’t as exciting, just thirty seconds of random snippets, so they watched it relatively calmly. Well, except for that part where Franco did his mating dance, which Isco took the opportunity to tease him about; and that part where Franco slapped Isco in the chest, which Isco took the opportunity to be all salty about again. Franco could've _killed him_ , okay.

“I guess I can say that you were glad you didn’t have to go through this again in your recent three head-to-heads in eleven days,” Nico said.

“Yes, we were relieved as hell,” Franco said.

“Was it planned? Did you ask to sit out?”

“No, it was actually – actually luck,” Isco said. “I was injured and Franco was suspended. We didn’t get a common match to play. I was benched for the first and Franco played the last.”

Then the whole twitter Q&A session ended and Franco and Isco were each given a whiteboard, a marker, and a mini whiteboard eraser. Nico informed them that they’d be asked questions about each other and had to answer them without communicating and see if they had the same answer.

The first few questions were easy; they were just about each other’s middle names, siblings, and birthdays. They both got them right.

Then it got harder because Nico started asking them individually. He first asked what Franco’s pet peeve was and gave them ten seconds to write.

“Stop peeking,” Franco said.

“I am _not_ ,” Isco retorted. “I don’t even need to peek. Everyone who’s known you for like, three hours, knows your pet peeve.”

“Okay, time’s up,” Nico called.

Franco and Isco turned their boards to the camera at the same time. On Isco’s was written, ‘when people aren’t as clean as him.’ On Franco’s, just a simple, ‘dirt.’

Nico counted that as correct and Isco beamed at Franco.

For Isco’s pet peeve, Franco wrote, ‘when it’s too quiet.’ Isco wrote ‘awkward silences.’

Another point for the both of them.

Isco guessed Franco’s favourite drink as mate. He got it right. There was literally no other option.

Franco guessed Isco’s favourite drink as chamomile tea. He was right but they had a brief argument about whether it was ‘chamomile’ or ‘camomile.’ The argument took them nowhere so they gave it up.

They got each other’s favourite food right; Isco guessing fish for Franco and Franco guessing pasta for Isco.

They were asked what Franco’s favourite part of Isco’s body was. Franco told Isco he was going to write ‘dick’ and they had to do that whole oh-shit-camera’s-rolling thing again. Anyway, they both wrote ‘hair,’ except Isco’s had an extra ‘on my head’ at the end. Franco called him a pervert.

They also got Isco’s favourite part of Franco’s body right because they both wrote ‘hands.’

“If you weren’t a footballer, what would you be? Answer for Franco first.”

They both wrote ‘astronomer’ and Nico told them they were fucking acing it.

They got a little stuck when it was time to answer for Isco, because Isco was. Isco was just YOLO-ing through his entire life and taking whatever came his way. It was practically almost impossible to pin down what Isco would’ve liked to do. And it wasn’t like they’d ever talked about it.

But Isco remembered their conversation on the train about Junior. And he knew that if there was one thing in his life that had always been and would always be constant, it was Junior. And that besides being a footballer like everyone was so obsessed about, Isco was also something bigger, something more overarching than his entire football career – Isco was a dad. Isco was a dad and everyone always missed that out. So maybe if Isco wasn’t a footballer, if Isco eliminated this part of his life – a dad was what he would truly be.

He turned to Franco and Franco gave him a little encouraging smile, like he was thinking of the same thing.

When they both turned their boards over, they read the same thing: ‘a father.’

“What’s Franco’s pet phrase for Isco?” Nico asked.

When they flipped their boards over, they both read the same thing: ‘Don’t be dramatic.’

Then they had their first wrong answer because for Isco’s pet phrase Franco wrote, ‘shut up,’ but Isco wrote, ‘I don’t have a pet phrase for him.’

“’Shut up’ is not my pet phrase for you!” Isco exclaimed.

“It also is,” Franco said.

“No, shut up.”

“See?”

Franco laughed as Isco pouted in defeat.

Their second wrong answer came right after that because when asked who usually woke up before the other, they both wrote ‘me.’

“You totally do not wake up earlier than me!” Isco said. “You’re a pig!”

“I do,” Franco said. “I just close my eyes.”

“God,” Isco rolled his eyes, because that was true, Franco was just always pretending to be asleep like a creep. “That doesn’t count.”

“It kinda does.”

Then Isco glared at him, so Franco conceded and said that okay, most of the time he only woke because Isco woke him up with all his movement.

“We can safely say you guys are 95% telepathic,” Nico said after they established that the score was a draw because they couldn’t decide who had more points. “Okay, this is the end of the interview part, could we ask for a short photo-taking session?”

And Franco suddenly looked so relieved, like it’d suddenly hit him that he was done answering questions. And also because they were on a run of wrong answers, probably, and Franco hated being wrong.

They posed for a few stock photos, including one where Isco was pouncing into Franco’s arms with his legs wrapped around Franco’s waist and they were both laughing with their mouths wide open. And a kiss shot. And also, of course, the obligatory back-facing shot to show the back of their jerseys. They posed with a ball. They took some candid shots while dribbling the ball around and trying to compare skills, and Isco realised this was the first time he actually really played football with Franco. He warmed his heart that despite football being their main thing in common, they didn’t actually need it to connect as deeply as they had.

They were finally released to change back to their outside clothes with a soft “great job, guys,” and a pat on the shoulders from Nico, but they took their time walking hand in hand down the corridor back to the changing room. In all frankness, Isco was just a little worried about the outcome of this video. About people’s responses to it. He knew that this was something they had to do as a couple just to clear the air and send the message they wanted to send, but that didn’t stop him from being worried.

Nevertheless, he knew Franco was even more worried, so he didn’t make a big deal out of it. If Franco needed Isco to be his pillar of strength, then he could bet his ass that Isco was going to be his fucking pillar of strength.

“Wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Isco asked softly.

“Mmhmm,” Franco said with a smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you,” Isco said.

“Love you, too,” Franco whispered, leaning in for a brief kiss.

“Let’s call Alvaro and Paulo and tell them about this.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll tell them we’re the new power couple of Spanish football.”

“Alvaro’s going to be so mad,” Franco said. “I wanna make Alvaro mad.”

So they skipped to the changing room and sat there in their matching number 22 jerseys, texting in the group chat to tease the fuck out of Alvaro.

And as Isco watched Franco excitedly tap on his phone screen, he realised yet again – he had never had more fun with anyone else than he was having with Franco in just this short period of time.

And Isco was going to do everything he could to make sure that he would continue having this kind of fun with Franco for all of eternity.


	28. Around Here You Never Wanna Sleep All Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Birds by Coldplay.

The video was emailed to Franco and Isco for approval less than a week later.

They were apart when they received it, Isco in Madrid and Franco in Pamplona for his match against Osasuna. Franco got the email once he landed in Seville that evening after the noon match, together with a text from Isco reading, _You got the email?_

 _Yeah,_ Franco replied. _What do you think about it?_

_I haven’t watched it. I thought we could watch it together._

_I’ll Skype you when I get home,_ Franco sent.

_Get home safe. I love you._

Franco did get home safe – to see Isco waiting for him, sitting on the front stoop of his building with Junior next to him.

He leapt to his feet when he saw Franco approaching, running up to Franco and clinging on to Franco’s neck like a koala. Franco put his bag on the ground and wrapped his arms around Isco, suddenly just. Franco was just. He didn’t _realise_ how heartwarming it was to actually _come home to Isco._

“Hey,” Isco whispered as he finally slid off Franco and placed his feet on the ground again.

“Hi,” Franco smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t have anything on today. My match was yesterday.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

“I wanted to.”

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“You’re such a nag, you know that?” Isco smiled, poking Franco on the nose. “We watched your match inside and then Junior wanted to play so I brought him outside, and we decided to wait for you.”

“Yeah? You watched my match?” Franco asked. “So…you saw my goal?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco kissed him on the lips. “You were so great and I am so fucking proud of you, Franco Vazquez.”

“I love you,” Franco whispered, pressing his head on Isco’s. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Isco softly pressed their noses together.

Then Franco felt a little weight hanging off his leg, and he pulled away from Isco to see Junior just trying to clamber up his leg like he was climbing a tree.

“Vazquez!” he exclaimed, then puckered his lips and made loud kissy noises.

“Hey, you,” Franco laughed, bending over to pick him up and kiss him on the cheek. “How you doin’?”

“Vazquez you score goal!”

“Mmhmm,” Franco nodded as they headed back inside. “You liked it? It makes you happy?”

“Makes me happy,” Junior said, nodding along with Franco.

They got into Franco’s apartment, where Isco helped Junior take off his tiny sweater – to reveal his toddler-sized Sevilla shirt underneath, in all its red hot glory.

“You let him wear it!” Franco said. “Did he wear it on the train here?”

“Uh, yeah,” Isco laughed. “It was…pretty funny. People came up to us. And they asked for photos with him instead of me.”

“Awww,” Franco cooed, picking Junior up again and rubbing their noses together. “Of course they did. You’re the cutest baby on earth.”

“I am!” Junior giggled.

Isco took charge of dinner, claiming he’d stocked Franco’s kitchen full of groceries on his way here. And he wasn’t lying. He took out a whole bunch of groceries and laid them on the kitchen counter, ordering Franco and Junior to go take a bath while he cooked.

Which didn’t really work out so well in the end, because Franco lost track of time playing with Junior in the bath and got out all wrinkly. Junior very kindly pointed it out to him while he was being dried.

“Vazquez you have many lines,” he said, even though he had them himself.

“I know, baby,” Franco said. “They’ll go away.”

“Go away? To where?”

“Nowhere,” Franco laughed. “They’ll just be gone.”

It didn’t stop Junior from being fixated on his little hands the whole time, though, even after he was dried and brought to the living room. Franco sat him down on the couch and found a channel on TV showing a cartoon, but he continued being distracted by his wrinkly fingers, so Franco left him there and went to find Isco in the kitchen.

“I’m dirty and oily,” Isco said without turning around as Franco approached to hug him from behind.

“Aren’t you always?” Franco pointed out, but aborted his idea for a hug and instead just placed his hands on either side of Isco’s waist. He gently pecked the side of Isco’s neck before resting his chin on Isco’s shoulder. “What you cooking?”

“You’ll see later,” Isco said, lightly tapping the top of his omelette with the wooden spoon he was holding.

“I thought I was the food and you were the entertainment,” Franco murmured. The omelette was flipped and the bottom was perfectly golden.

“My son took over that job,” Isco smiled. He turned and kissed Franco’s face. “You’re our king today.”

“I like this,” Franco whispered, watching as Isco dug a little hole in the top of the omelette to check how cooked the insides were. “Coming home to you.”

“Yeah?” Isco said softly. The omelette was carefully slid onto a plate. “I like that, too.”

“I can’t wait until we get to do that every day.”

Isco turned and grabbed both of Franco’s hands. He smiled gently at Franco. “I like when you think about the future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m…I’m always afraid I’m thinking too far ahead and, like, maybe…maybe we won’t even –“

“No,” Franco interrupted, and Isco sighed.

“You’ve always been better at all the future stuff, anyway,” Isco finally said.

Franco smiled. He pushed the omelette under the tiny heating lamp Federico had gotten him. It clanged against the two other covered plates that were there. “Go take a shower before the food’s cold.”

“You guys can go ahead and eat,” Isco said, turning and reaching into the cabinets for some plates. “Don’t wait for me.”

But Franco just grabbed him by the waist and lifted him off the ground, ferrying him right to the bathroom as he struggled and squealed to no avail. He dumped Isco on the toilet, found Isco’s bag in the corner of the bedroom, dug in it for a new set of clothes, and delivered it to Isco.

“Shower,” he ordered.

“Fine,” Isco grumbled. He took off his shirt, but didn’t move for his pants before walking up to Franco and giving him the longest kiss on the lips. “You wanna watch or something?”

“I’ll go watch my favourite Isco,” Franco said, walking out of the bathroom. He heard Isco laugh and give a soft little ‘fuck you.’

He went back into the living room and sat next to Junior with his arm around him. He watched the cartoon on TV, and it was all silent for a while until Junior tapped him on the arm and said, “Vazquez, no more lines.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. “I’m not sure your papa would say that about me.”

“Why?”

“He thinks I’m old,” Franco said. He raised his eyebrows a little and pointed at the lines that appeared on his forehead. “See? Many lines.”

Junior started laughing loudly. He reached out with his small hand and put it on Franco’s forehead. “Yeah, many lines,” he said. He tried to do the same but, like, half a line popped up on his baby forehead. “Vazquez I have lines too?”

“No,” Franco laughed. “You’re way too young.”

“Vazquez you have lines here too,” Junior informed him, tapping both his hands on Franco’s temples.

“I know. I’m wrinkly and old.”

“What’s wrinkly?”

“When you have a lot of lines.”

“Old person has many lines?”

“Mmhmm.”

“So Vazquez is old?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I’m old?”

“How old Vazquez? I’m two,” Junior said. He raised two fingers in a ‘v’ at Franco.

“I’m twenty seven.”

“Twenty…seven?” Junior asked. He sounded thoroughly confused. He put out all his ten fingers and pushed them towards Franco. “How many on here?”

“Twenty seven can’t fit in there, baby,” Franco laughed.

“How many is twenty seven?”

So Franco grabbed a pen and an old newspaper and drew two strokes on it. “That’s two, that’s how old you are.”

“I’m two,” Junior said again, like he thought two was an age to be proud of.

Below the two strokes, Franco drew twenty seven strokes, counting out loud all the way up. “That’s twenty seven,” he told Junior.

“That’s…very many,” Junior said slowly once his beady eyes were done taking in all the strokes.

“Mmhmm,” Franco smiled.

“More many is more old?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Vazquez you’re very old.”

“Yeah? You know how old papa is?”

“How old papa?”

“He’s twenty four.”

“How many is twenty four?”

Franco canceled out the last three strokes on the newspaper. “This is twenty four.”

“That’s very many also,” Junior said.

“Yeah,” Franco put the pen down on the table and found the side of his hand coated with grey from the newspaper. He went to the kitchen and washed it off. He picked Junior up and put Junior in his lap as he sat down on the couch again. “How many can you count to? Can you count to five?”

“I can count to six!” Junior said happily, holding out six fingers and shoving them in Franco’s face.

“Okay, count for me.”

So Junior counted to six, very slowly, fidgeting with his fingers like he had numbered his fingers and was just reciting it. Franco taught him seven, eight, and nine, but he seemed to forget it within five seconds.

Then Franco turned and saw Isco standing in the shadow of the corridor, his head poking out slightly from behind the wall. He was watching them with this adoring look on his face.

“How long have you been creeping on us?” Franco called.

Isco refused to answer. He just smiled a little smile to himself and went to the kitchen to bring all the food to the living room. He got three empty plates and scooped a piece of grilled fish each into them, two medium pieces for Franco and himself and a half-sized piece for Junior. It was followed by a slice of omelette and a scoop of vegetable stir-fry.

“So domestic,” Franco commented with a smile as he took his plate.

“You like domestic?” Isco asked, making brief eye contact with Franco before opening his mouth wide to urge Junior to do the same. He made goofy chewing sounds as Junior closed his lips over the plastic fork.

“Yeah,” Franco said softly.

Isco leaned over Junior and planted another lingering kiss on Franco’s lips. Isco seemed to be very into lingering kisses that day. It was. It made Franco really soft inside, like he’d become a teddy bear.

After a few bites of food had been fed to Junior, Isco picked him up and put him on the table with his little plate in front of him, asking him to eat by himself. Junior succeeded for a few bites, but then started dropping food everywhere, so Isco put him on the floor between his legs and made him eat while standing. The coffee table was low, anyway.

Then Isco decided that Junior was making too much of a mess so he got up and retrieved Junior’s bib from his bag, along with a couple of towels. But by then Junior had decided that he’d enjoy randomly running through the house so Isco had to chase him for a while, and Franco just. Franco just sat on the couch laughing because they looked so fucking hilarious.

Junior eventually jumped up the couch and into Franco’s lap, where Isco caught him. He put the bib on for Junior, wrapped a towel around him to prevent his clothes from getting dirty, and put him back between Isco’s legs.

“Eat your food, baby,” he said.

Junior obeyed after a big smile and a soft giggle, contented to settle down after his run.

“Sorry for dirtying everything,” Isco said. He sounded flustered. He looked flustered, too, when Franco turned to him. His hair was all messed up.

“Hey,” Franco reached over and gently smoothened Isco’s hair. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll clean up.”

“Will you just chill and have your dinner?” Franco said. He scooped a mouthful of food and shoved it in Isco’s mouth.

Isco laughed and tucked his head into Franco’s shoulder as he ate, his eyes fixed on the back of Junior’s head. He occasionally helped Junior pick up a scrap of food he’d dropped, or wipe his dirty mouth. He finished his own food really quickly, as usual, so Franco took his time and watched the two of them.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any…baby stuff,” Franco finally said to break the long silence.

“No, hey,” Isco said softly. “It’s okay.”

“We could go get some. For…for the next time you guys are here.”

“It’s okay,” Isco said again. “I’d be more creeped out if you had baby stuff here and you didn’t even have a baby.”

“But I do now,” Franco whispered, a little hesitantly because he was afraid he was coming on too strong, but at the same time it wasn’t a lie.

“Yeah?” Isco whispered back. He gently took Franco’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Yeah,” Franco smiled as Isco leaned his head on Franco’s shoulder. “We could get one of those cots that converts to a bed. You know? And a high chair, and some toys and a box to put those toys, and –“

And then Isco very rudely interrupted him by just leaning over and pressing his lips hard against Franco’s, removing his legs from around Junior and folding them under himself so he could reach Franco. His hands moved softly through Franco’s hair, not urgent at all, just gently and tenderly.

“You okay?” Franco managed to ask between kisses.

“Yeah,” Isco said, and his voice was a little thick and it scared Franco. “Yeah. It’s just. You’re so good to him. You’re so good to Junior.”

Franco laughed softly. Isco pulled away so he was half-sitting on Franco’s lap. Franco gently held him by the cheeks. “Are you saying that in the jealous way, or?”

“No,” Isco mumbling, blinking hard like he was trying not to cry. “I’m saying it in the – I think – Franco. No one besides me and Sonia and our families have ever been this good to Junior.”

“He deserves this.”

“Yeah, but,” Isco sighed. “I…you treat him. You treat him the same way I treat him. It’s like…it’s like you see no issue with this at all. That he’s not your son. That I have a _son_ with another _person_ that isn’t _you_.”

“C’mon,” Franco said. “It’s not like you had him while cheating on me or something.”

“I know, but,” Isco started, but didn’t manage to continue. He shrugged.

“Look,” Franco said. He lifted Isco off his lap and held him by the shoulders. “I told you this before. I love you and everything that comes with you, and I care for you and everything you care for. And Junior falls into that. I am not gonna be angry about something that I had no part to play in. Something that…I don’t deserve to be angry about. I love you, Alarcon. I love you so much and this is what I want to do for you, this is how much I love you and I don’t know how else to say it except to show you. This is something I want to do and I’m glad I get to do it for you.”

And Isco had started _crying_ and Franco was so _helpless_ so he just held Isco close to him, and Isco murmured something into his shirt that Franco couldn’t make out.

“Did I say something wrong?” Franco asked.

“No,” Isco sobbed. “I just. I love that you treat him like your own. And I…I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re just so _okay_ with this.”

“Look, you don’t have to get it, okay?” Franco said. “You don’t have to get how or why I’m so fine with it. You just have to get that…that I’m completely okay with this and I want to do this a hundred percent. That’s literally all that you have to know. Okay?”

Isco nodded. “’Kay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Vazquez. I love you so fucking much it hurts. It hurts.”

“Yeah? Where does it hurt?”

“Right here,” Isco jabbed a finger at his chest.

Franco leaned over and kissed him right there, in the middle of his chest. It was followed by Isco’s clavicle, his Adam’s apple, then up his jaw and on his lips. Isco was left in a giggling heap and Franco had never heard a more beautiful sound.

When they turned to Junior they found that he’d wandered to the front of the coffee table, closer to the TV, and had sat down on the floor. There was a piece of omelette in his hand.

“Baby, don’t eat that if it’s touched the floor,” Isco called.

Junior ignored him. He gnawed on the piece of food, oblivious to all the little crumbs that were falling on the ground. Then he got up and reached for his plate, dragging it over to where he was and putting it on the ground. He continued eating with his eyes fixed on the TV, even though more food landed on the floor instead of in his mouth.

“You think he heard me say ‘fucking’?” Isco asked Franco.

“Nah,” Franco said.

They watched Junior watch TV for a while. Franco draped his arm over Isco’s shoulder and was relieved when Isco settled into it, holding on to Franco’s hand to pull himself closer. Franco finally finished his food at the same time Junior did. Junior got restless once he was done and started playing with the food bits on the ground, and Isco got worried he’d eat them so he reluctantly pulled away from Franco and went to get Junior.

“Time to clean up, yeah?” Isco cooed. He used the bib to wipe Junior’s mouth. “Do you want a poopy? You want a poopy?”

“Poopy,” Junior said.

Isco felt Junior’s diaper up to see if it was already all poopy, and upon establishing that they weren’t, handed Junior to Franco. He started clearing all the dishes and cleaning the table and floor and Franco wanted to help but he was literally bogged down by Junior and Isco had this little smirk on his face that told Franco he did it on purpose.

About fifteen minutes later, as Isco was in the kitchen clanging around, there was suddenly a really pungent smell wafting out of Junior’s butt area. Junior turned to Franco and grinned from ear to ear. “Poopy,” he said.

“You’re all poopy now, huh?” Franco tickled him in the sides, causing him to struggle a little. “You’re a stinky poopy baby.”

He scooped Junior up and brought him to the bathroom as Isco laughed. He gave Junior a little wash and then changed his diaper, dumping the dirty one in a bag and washing his hands before taking Junior back out and putting him on the couch.

Then he went and found Isco, who was cleaning the floor near the TV. “I’ll help you,” he offered, because, well. It was Franco’s house anyway.

“No need,” Isco said. “Go sit with your favourite Isco.”

Franco burst into laughter. “Are you being jealous now? You’re being jealous.”

“I’m not! You said yourself he’s your favourite Isco.”

“And you’re jealous.”

“I am not!” Isco exclaimed. “Stop it, Vazquez. Your face is jealous.”

Franco gave him a kiss on the lips and he was pacified. He went back to the couch and sat with Junior, and Isco left again after getting all the pieces off the floor.

Franco settled on the couch with Junior in his arms. It was quiet for a while but Franco soon realised that it was only because Junior was dozing off. He tried to take Junior to the bedroom – even though there was no cot or anything – so he could sleep comfortably, but Junior started fussing once he was put down. So Franco bundled him up again and started singing to him, rocking him as he walked a few rounds around the house and eventually settled on the couch again.

“Night, baby,” he whispered as Junior settled again, his fists grasping little handfuls of Franco’s shirt.

“Night,” Junior murmured. His fists clenched more tightly.

Franco gave him a kiss atop his head and put his feet up on the couch with a sigh. He craned his neck to see what was on TV but it was just some news that Isco had probably turned the channel to. And speaking of Isco, he continued flitting around the house, giving Franco and Junior little smiles.

Franco smiled to no one in particular. He just. He smiled because the happiness was bursting out of his heart. He smiled because he had never felt more at home in Seville than he did that day, and he was so fucking _in love_ and so ready to do _completely nothing_ about it.

\------

Isco finally finished cleaning up just before eleven pm.

He gave himself a few sniffs to make sure he wasn’t all sweaty and stinky or else Franco would erupt into one of his clean fits. He went out to the living room once he established that he was clean enough.

It turned out not to matter, because Franco was asleep on the couch with Junior balanced on his chest.

Isco just walked over and stood next to them because they looked too peaceful to be disturbed. Franco was all stretched out along the length of the couch, his feet reaching the armrest. One of his arms was curled around Junior and the other was under his head along with two couch cushions. His face was turned slightly to the right, towards the back of the couch. He looked exhausted, even while he was sleeping. Just like he always was after a match.

Isco turned off the TV and sat on the coffee table next to Franco and Junior. He watched Junior float and sink with Franco’s breaths. He watched Franco fidget a little, his hand landing square on Junior’s fluffy butt. He watched Junior curl up more tightly into a ball like Franco was the most comfortable surface he’d ever slept on.

He got up and softly kissed Franco’s cheek before kissing Junior’s head. Neither of them stirred.

He went into Franco’s room and stood in front of Franco’s wardrobe for a minute, wondering if he would be treading too far into personal space if he opened it.

He eventually did, because he didn’t want Franco and Junior to be cold. But besides finding a blanket, he also found an empty space a quarter the size of Franco’s whole closet, and an acoustic guitar.

When he got outside again, Junior had moved a little up Franco’s chest and had his head now tucked gently under Franco’s chin. Franco had both his arms around Junior, like he was a tiny bolster. Isco draped the blanket over them. It was. It was strangely relaxing to just watch them both sleep. Because – because Isco knew as long as they were happy and contented and peaceful, Isco would be, too.

He curled up in the armchair across from them and watched them until he fell asleep.

\------

Isco woke again to a couch cushion being thrown on his face.

“Hmm?” Isco mumbled. He received another cushion.

“Alarcon,” Franco whispered urgently. “Wake up.”

“What?” Isco opened his eyes halfway.

“I don’t know how to get him off me without waking him up,” Franco said.

Isco sighed, but laughed as he got up. He put the blanket aside and gently uncurled Junior’s fists from Franco’s shirt, cradling him and allowing Franco to get up. Franco got up and stretched himself out, then tried to take Junior back from Isco.

“I’ll take him,” he said. “Go inside and sleep. Sleeping like this is bad for your neck.”

“We can all go inside and sleep,” Isco suggested.

“There’s no cot.”

“He can sleep in bed with us.”

“But…” Franco waved his hand around. “I thought…we couldn’t sleep with babies in bed because we’d…smother them.”

“You did some research?” Isco smiled. Franco nodded shyly, avoiding eye contact, so Isco knew not to tease him. Franco was trying his best. Franco was trying his hardest to be part of Isco’s life. Isco could always see that and Isco was more appreciative of that than he could ever put into words. “It’s okay. I sleep with him in bed all the time. I don’t move much in my sleep.”

“Okay, you take him inside, then,” Franco said. “I’ll just…hang around here. I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

“Franco,” Isco sighed.

“It’s fine.”

“You’re not going to crush him. I promise. If you do, I’ll fucking push you over on the floor, okay?”

Franco blinked at Isco a few times, then finally relented, his shoulders sagging. He let Isco take his hand and pull him towards the bedroom. He stood like, six feet away from the bed as Isco set Junior in the middle of it and got Junior’s baby pillow and bolster from his bag. He took half a step closer as Isco climbed in behind Junior and wrapped Junior up in his warmth. He looked scared, like he was afraid if he got too close, Junior would get hurt.

“C’mon,” Isco whispered. He raised his hand and waved for Franco to go nearer. Franco took one more step. “I’ll hold him, okay? So we won’t squash him. It’s okay. I promise. Franco.”

Franco took two more steps. He clasped his hands and fidgeted, his eyes darting from Junior to Isco to the empty space left for him. And back to Isco’s face. He finally relented when Isco gave him a smile.

“Okay,” he said, taking the rest of the steps swiftly and getting into bed, leaving a safe amount of space between himself and Isco. He was probably already at the very edge of the bed.

Isco puckered his lips. “Kiss,” he said.

Franco had to shimmy closer for that, and he didn’t realise until he’d gently pecked Isco on the lips and saw that he was suddenly just an inch away from Junior. He shook his head at Isco, aware that Isco had fucking tricked him into this. Then he planted a soft kiss on Junior’s head.

Franco placed one of his hands on top of Isco’s, resting on Junior’s hip. He closed his eyes and sighed, although his shoulders took a while to finally fully relax.

Isco watched him. He just watched. He loved watching Franco for some reason; not in the creepy way, but just because Franco was so beautiful. Isco had thought this since the very first day. Franco was so fucking beautiful and whenever Isco looked at him, he saw not only Franco’s beautifully-chiselled jaw or his bright brown eyes or his sharp nose. He saw not only Franco’s soft, marshmallow-like hair, even though that in itself deserved to be one of the marvels of the world.

But he saw Franco for exactly who he was – intelligent, compassionate, considerate, and the most rational perfectionist Isco had ever met. Franco was made up of a thousand different layers, each more pleasant than the one before. And each one making Isco fall deeper and deeper in love. Franco was Isco’s entire universe – Franco was the telescope through which Isco _saw_ his entire universe. Franco had taught Isco so many things; he had taught Isco so many things _without even intending to_ , without even _trying._ Without even coming across as bossy or forcefully trying to impart his beliefs on Isco. He allowed Isco to be his very own person while opening up to him about all his endearingly quirky habits and thoughts. He allowed this – this gentle intermingling of their lives and thoughts without seeming too overly prying or manipulative.

And even up until that very day, Franco was still the same. Franco never took advantage of his closeness with Isco or Junior. He never did anything without making sure Isco was okay with it. Isco could tell that he loved Junior to bits, but never once did he make any decision regarding Junior without consulting Isco. Except maybe buying him some clothes, but that was nothing. He never tried too hard, never tried to do extravagant things for Junior just to impress Isco. It was as if he just _knew_ that it would mean nothing, that it wouldn’t be worth it at all. And besides, extravagance wasn’t something Franco was into at all. Franco wanted to be a part of Isco’s life, but he had to do it at his own speed. He might’ve known that Isco was fine with him diving in head-first, but he wouldn’t do it if he thought he wasn’t ready _himself_.

Isco knew Franco would’ve loved to call Junior his own. He tried damn fucking hard to show it, at least. He wanted to be a part of Junior’s life as much as he wanted to be a part of Isco’s. And Isco. Junior was the most important thing in Isco’s life. He was lucky that Franco thought the same.

God, Franco was so fucking beautiful.

Isco removed his hand from under Franco’s and slid his fingers into Franco’s hair, gently combing it back on his head. Franco smiled a little in his sleep, pushing his head more into Isco’s grasp.

Then his eyes suddenly shot open, scaring Isco into a soft gasp.

“Did I wake you?” Isco whispered. “Sorry.”

“No, uh,” Franco said, turning on his back and twisting to reach his phone. “I just realised that we haven’t watched the video.”

Isco laughed softly. Of course they’d forgotten all about what they’d been meaning to do in the first place. It was just. It was very typically them to get this distracted. And it was also very typical of Franco to be the first one to notice.

“Let’s do it tomorrow,” Isco suggested.

Franco frowned. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Don’t you wanna know how it turned out?”

“We’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Franco said. He put his phone back on the table but continued fidgeting.

“What?” Isco asked again.

“I’m like. I’m itching to know.”

Isco laughed again. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s watch it.”

So they got up and Isco went to the work table, where Franco’s laptop was, but Franco stayed by the bed to – Franco stayed by the bed to _build a fucking pillow wall around Junior._ “So he won’t fall off,” was his explanation when Isco stared at him.

Isco couldn’t help but laugh again. And shake his head. Franco never failed to make Isco feel so – so safe.

They turned on the laptop and debated quietly over whether they should get another chair, but eventually decided that they’d disturb Junior and instead just settled with Isco on Franco’s lap. They plugged in the earphones and took a side each. Franco gave Isco a little kiss on the cheek before Isco clicked the play button.

The video started off with a brief introduction of the both of them by the narrator, along with some match clips and some short snippets of them kicking the ball around in the studio. Then it cut to them sitting on the couch answering Nico’s questions. Nothing major was cut except that Nico’s voice was replaced by a caption below Isco and Franco. Even Franco’s accidental flirting wasn’t cut. Isco practically had to stuff his fist into his mouth so his laughter wouldn’t wake Junior up. Franco wasn’t so amused.

The Q&A came after a short transition video of them kicking the ball around again, as well as some of the photos they’d taken. There was a shot of them looking all surprised and impressed at the ask Francisco hashtag, and the section passed quickly because all their answers had been short. It was just as well, though, because most of the part where they bickered while watching the highlights of the Super Cup match was included. The part about Isco giving Franco a blowjob for a handjob in return was, to Isco’s relief, cut out. As well as the part where Isco had asked if he could answer ‘dick’ to the question of what the hardest part of their relationship was.

There was another short transition video thing, followed by the trivia section. It also passed quickly. Isco thought maybe because the video was so entertaining. It ended with a candid, shaky shot of their backs as they walked back to the changing room, holding hands and walking slowly before kissing at the end.

Isco gave the touchpad a little swipe. The video was actually more than ten minutes long.

“Looks good,” he said to Franco. “Yeah?”

Franco nodded. He wrapped his arm more tightly around Isco’s waist and leaned his cheek on Isco’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Isco said. “You okay with it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re quiet.”

“I just,” Franco shrugged. “Once it’s out there…it’s out there.”

“Is there anything you said that you don’t want people to know?” Isco asked.

Franco shook his head.

“Why are you scared then?” Isco wrapped his arm around Franco’s head and held it close to his chest.

“I don’t know.”

“You wanna…you wanna scrap this entire thing?”

Franco went quiet for a while. He fiddled with the side hem of Isco’s shirt. Then he tilted his head up at Isco and shook it.

“You sure?” Isco asked.

Franco nodded again. He leaned his cheek on Isco’s arm again as Isco let go of him to type a reply, cc-ing himself and signing off with both their names. He hovered over the send button for a while, waiting for Franco to say something.

Franco put his hand on Isco’s and clicked the send button for him. Then he settled with hugging Isco again and gave a soft sigh.

“I’ve just never done this,” he whispered. “Been so…public.”

“I’m sorry,” Isco said.

“No,” Franco sighed again. “It’s not your fault. I just don’t know what to expect.”

And he didn’t like not knowing what to expect. Isco got it.

“I’ll be here,” Isco said softly. “Promise.”

Franco smiled. He puckered his lips. “Kiss.”

Isco laughed and kissed him gently on the lips. “Now you know what it’s like to be the shorter one, huh?”

“It sucks.”

“It doesn’t all suck. At least I get carried around.”

Franco laughed and, probably just to placate Isco, closed the laptop and carried Isco back to bed. He placed him down gently, removed some of the pillows around Junior and tucked them below Isco’s head, and gave Isco a long good night kiss.

Then he settled on his own side, got some pillows for himself, and found Isco’s hands so he could hold on to them. Then he just. Just went quiet and lay there and gazed over at Isco.

And Isco knew that Franco didn’t like airing his worries for everyone to hear. Not even Isco. Not all at once, at least. Maybe Franco needed some time to formulate the thoughts into words before he could talk to Isco about his troubles. Maybe he had to know what was coming for him before he could do that. Isco understood.

So he just held on tightly to Franco’s hands and let Franco gaze at him. Let Franco’s eyes flit all around Isco’s face, the anxious look in them slowly fading. It made Isco so relieved that he could calm Franco just by _being there_. It made him. It made him just want to be there all the time.

Franco was the first to fall asleep after a really long session of him alternating between dozing off and forcing his eyes open again just to see that Isco was still there. Isco softly told him that he’d always be. Franco finally believed him, right as the exhaustion of his match eventually completely took over him and he fell into a deep sleep, not even responding when Isco touched his face and told him he would love him forever.

\------

They all wore their matching t-shirts, the red one with the football on the front that Franco had gotten tem, to the train station the next morning. Isco insisted on it, saying he’d brought the shirts all the way to Seville, although Franco grumbled that they looked like dorks.

He was just kidding though. They looked good in them. Dorky, but cute. Besides, Franco was the one who bought them. They asked someone to take a photo for them at the train station before Isco and Junior boarded their train.

“We’re so cute and gross,” Isco said, examining the photos contentedly.

“Decide on one,” Franco said, juggling Junior on one arm.

“No,” was all Isco said.

Junior threw a tantrum when it was time to board. He clung on to Franco’s fingers with both his hands and tried pulling Franco on the train with him, and he started crying loudly and _oh my God,_ Franco suddenly got what Isco meant when he said Junior got crabby.

“I’ll see you soon,” Franco whispered, cradling Junior one last time before he got on the train. “Okay? Very, very soon.”

“Vazquez why not come with us?” Junior sobbed.

“I have things to do,” Franco said. Junior had never acted this way around Franco. “Why are you being like this? Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“I wanna Vazquez.”

“I’ll go see you soon. I promise.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I don’t have a ticket, baby,” Franco smoothened Junior’s little curls on his head only to have them pop back up the next second. “If I get on the train without a ticket, the police will come catch me and I won’t be able to see you for a long time.”

Isco laughed but Junior took him completely seriously. “Police?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“Mmhmm.”

Junior blinked at him a few times. “Okay,” he finally said. “Vazquez stay here. No police.”

“Good boy,” Franco said softly, giving him a few loud kisses all over his face. He started giggling, and Franco knew everything was going to be okay.

“Maybe it’s early,” Isco suggested. “He got out of the house too early.”

“Yeah,” Franco said. “Hey. You be good and listen to your papa, okay?”

“’Kay,” Junior said, wiping his snot with his hand and cleaning it on Franco’s shirt.

Franco laughed. “And then when I see you, I’ll give you the biggest hug in the world.”

“Biggest,” Junior nodded. He put out six fingers. “And I count to six.”

“Okay,” Franco smiled. He gingerly passed Junior back to Isco, the both of them pausing for a while, afraid that Junior would burst into tears again. Fortunately, he didn’t. “I’m sorry,” Franco whispered as he kissed Isco on the cheek, then the mouth.

“Why?” Isco asked.

“I don’t know.”

Isco laughed. “You’re so dumb.”

“ _You’re_ dumb. Dumbass.”

The announcement came over the PA system that it was the last call for their train, so Isco reached up and gave Franco another kiss. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” Franco smiled. He gently combed Isco’s hair back with his hand.

“Call me.”

“Yeah. Take care.”

Then Isco hoisted Junior over his shoulder and boarded the train with his bag. Franco followed them along the length of the cabin until they found their seats. Junior immediately clambered to the window once he was sat down, pressing his face and palms on it and smiling at Franco. His noise was all squished and Franco couldn’t help but laugh. He put his hand on the window against one of Junior’s, and Junior seemed immediately pacified.

Isco came closer, like he was jealous and wanted it too. Franco put his other hand on the screen and Isco did the same. God, Franco loved his Isco Alarcons, no matter what size.

He was made to step away from the train as it prepared to leave. He did so reluctantly, blowing kisses to Isco and Junior as the train pulled away. Junior didn’t stop smiling, which was a relief.

Franco didn’t remember parting ever being this difficult.

Franco got home and made some lunch for himself. The house seemed eerily quiet. And Franco was. Franco was lonely as fuck. The previous night had been so fun and warm but now Franco suddenly felt. He felt so empty.

The video was dropped just after lunchtime. Franco was watching National Geographic when it happened.

He didn’t dare to click on it at first, which seemed stupid to him because it wasn’t like he’d never watched it. Nevertheless, he waited for Isco’s text, which he knew was bound to come.

Surely enough, about fifteen minutes later, Isco sent him a big red heart. It was followed by the text, _Franco Vazquez, I just want you to know this: this relationship I have with you, everything I have with you, it’s everything I have ever wanted in a relationship. It’s everything I have ever wanted, period. It wipes away all the time and distance between us. I love you and I will always love you no matter what._

Franco smiled. He locked his phone and put it aside, lying down sideways on the couch. He closed his eyes and imagined Isco fucking flitting around the house again, doing God-knew-what. Then he fretted a little about opening the message, because now Isco would see two blue ticks and no reply from Franco. But Franco honestly didn’t know how to reply. He never knew how to respond to Isco’s affection.

Thankfully, after like, twenty minutes of fretting, Franco was saved by the group chat.

 _Francisco!_ Alvaro sent. _I’m mad I didn’t think of that first._

 _I wanna do a fun video too,_ Paulo said. _No fair._

Franco smiled. He put the phone down in front of him and watched as the header switched to _Isco is typing…_

 _Deal with it_ , Isco sent, with an emoji wearing sunglasses.

 _Just realised that we’ve never gone out together,_ Paulo sent.

 _You wanna go out with me?_ Isco asked.

 _No, fucker, he’s talking about all four of us,_ Alvaro said.

 _Fine,_ Isco said. _You’re the fucker._

 _Was Franco in Madrid to do this?_ Alvaro asked. _You didn’t come see me. Rude._

 _He doesn’t wanna see your dumb face,_ Isco said.

 _You’re the dumb face,_ Alvaro replied. _Where is Franco anyway? Franco. I can see you reading our messages._

 _He doesn’t want to talk,_ Isco said. _Leave him alone._

 _What happened?_ Alvaro asked. _Is he okay?_

_Nothing happened. Not everyone needs to talk all the time like you, Alvaro._

_Okay,_ Alvaro said. Then there was a long, awkward pause in the chat.

 _He’s fine_ , Isco added.

 _You know we love you anyway,_ Paulo finally said, like he was trying to help his boyfriend out of the hole he’d dug himself.

Isco sent four green hearts. _Two each from me and Franco._

Franco tapped back and went to Isco’s chat. He typed and sent, _I love you and I miss you every second. I can’t wait for the next time I get to see you. I love you and I’m so grateful to have you that I can’t even put it into words._

 _You don’t have to_ , came the reply almost immediately. _I love you so much._

Franco turned off the TV and went to bed, getting into the side Isco had been sleeping in the previous night. He had his afternoon nap surrounded by Isco’s scent.

\------

Sevilla fucked up their next match against Espanyol, which meant they fell below Barcelona into third place. Meanwhile, Real Madrid stormed to a huge win at home, although Isco only played a little more than ten minutes.

Sevilla fucked up again in their following game against Villareal. It was a draw, so maybe it wasn’t such a massive fuck up. Still a fuck up, though, because Barcelona began to pull away. Real Madrid, on the other hand, had their match postponed due to a storm that ruined the Vigo stadium.

Franco sat at his locker after the 0-0 draw, looking at his phone. Isco had called him the previous night and told him about the match being cancelled and replaced with a training session. He’d also said he’d get on a train after training and come to Seville, since he had a couple of days off and his parents were in Madrid, originally to take care of Junior but still willing to act as babysitters now that the match was cancelled. He’d sent Franco a few messages saying he was on the train and that he’d watched the match on his phone.

 _Can’t wait to see you_ , Franco sent. He added a heart for good measure.

Almost immediately after, he was ambushed by Joaquin and Matias, who sat on each side of him.

“Hey,” Joaquin said.

“We watched the video,” Matias said.

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. He’d always been closest to his compatriots out of all his teammates but he’d never really talked to them about his private life. “How’d you…how’d you find it?”

“It was cool,” Matias said.

“And funny,” Joaquin added. He gave Franco a big smile when Franco turned to him, like he wanted Franco to know it wasn’t the malicious kind of funny.

“Yeah?” Franco asked again. He looked down at his phone, which he was spinning in his hand. “You liked it?”

“A lot,” Joaquin assured him. “We just…uh, we wanted you to know that…we support you.”

“Thank you,” Franco smiled at the ground. He shrugged. “Thanks, it’s just. This means a lot. No one here has ever…you know, mentioned it to me. Like it’s some kind of taboo or something.”

“It’s not,” Matias said. “I mean, not that we talk about you behind your back or anything. It’s just…not a taboo. No one actually dares to approach you about it because you’re so quiet about everything.”

Franco laughed. “Well, you two did.”

“Because we’re closer to you. It shouldn’t be a taboo, anyway. It’s just like any one of us having a girlfriend. You know? I think…it’s the same thing. Maybe everyone just needs some time to get used to it.”

Franco nodded. Maybe they did. After all, Franco had needed some time himself.

“Anyway, maybe next time when he’s in town, he can come to dinner with us,” Joaquin said.

“Actually, uh,” Franco took a look at his phone again. “He’s on his way here. He’ll be here in maybe an hour.”

“Do you wanna go out for dinner?” Matias asked. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the whole team if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, it can just be with the two of us. I mean, unless you guys have other plans.”

Franco thought about it. Isco would probably say yes. He was always up for dinner and some entertainment. And Franco was, well. As long as Isco was there, Franco would be just fine.

So Franco texted Isco, _Do you wanna go out for dinner with Mati and Tucu?_

 _Tucu the one who told you to kiss me?_ Isco asked.

Franco laughed and they asked him what the matter was so he showed them the message. They laughed, too.

 _Yeah,_ Franco sent.

_Ok, just the two of them?_

_We’ll start small. They invited us._

_Ok, cool. I’m in._

_Love you,_ Franco sent, along with a string of hearts that had Matias and Joaquin whooping.

“What do you guys think about him?” Franco asked.

“Like?” Matias asked.

“He’s asking for our _approval_ ,” Joaquin shoved Franco in the shoulder. “You’re asking us for our approval.”

“You don’t need our approval, Franco.”

“No, I just,” Franco scratched the back of his neck. He felt a blush rising up his cheeks. “I just wanna know what you think about him.”

“I think he’s cool,” Matias said earnestly. “He seems like a cool guy.”

“He’s a little goofy,” Joaquin said slowly, like he was afraid he’d come across insulting. “But like, in the way that you can always have fun with him. Like he always makes you laugh. Fuck, I always see you texting him and he always makes you smile.”

Franco laughed softly. “Yeah, he does.”

“It doesn’t matter what we think of him,” Matias said. “Or what anyone else does. It only matters what you think.”

“Well, I think,” Franco said softly. “That he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know? When I was young, when I first started playing football professionally, I thought that – I thought that it was the best thing that could ever happen to me. But he made me realise that I was wrong.”

“Holy _shit,_ ” Joaquin said after a short period of shocked silence. He shoved Franco in the shoulder again. “If we’d known you were going to be this mushy, we wouldn’t have come over.”

“Fuck you,” Franco shoved him right back. “Go take a fucking shower. You fucking stink.”

“There’s the Franco I know,” Joaquin said, wrapping his arm around Franco’s neck and grappling with him until he managed to hold Franco’s head to his chest. “And I don’t stink. I didn’t even play.”

“You touched me and I stink,” Franco said, muffled.

Joaquin dumped him aside and stood up, beckoning for Matias to follow him. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said. “No one can stand your cleanliness except your tiny boyfriend.”

“Hey, he’s not tiny,” Matias argued – for obvious reasons. “That’s rude.”

“I’m not saying you’re tiny,” Joaquin said, his voice fading as they walked further towards the end of the room. “But you’re tiny.”

Franco laughed. He gathered all his things and went to shower, and then left after telling Matias and Joaquin to text him about dinner.

He opened his front door to see Isco sitting on the couch, an eager smile on his face.

He got up and went to Franco as Franco shut the door and put his bag down, and then wrapped his arms around Franco’s neck and his legs around Franco’s waist, lifting himself off the ground, like a koala. “Hiiii,” he cooed into Franco’s ear.

“Hey, you,” Franco laughed. He curled his arms more tightly around Isco. He’d never get tired of this feeling. Of coming home to Isco. He couldn’t wait to do it every single day. He brought Isco to the couch and put him down, crawling over him and taking his face in his hands. “How you doin’?”

“Good,” Isco beamed up at him, his fingers grasping the sides of Franco’s tracksuit. “So…we’re official now?”

“Official?” Franco asked. He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “When were we…not official?”

Isco laughed. “No, I mean, like, you’re taking me out with your friends.”

“Yeah,” Franco said. “I don’t know. We got our bases all fucked up.”

“We did the bases backwards.”

“Mmhmm. Fuck baseball and their dumb bases anyway.”

Isco laughed again. He keened upwards and kissed Franco softly on the lips. “Tired?”

Franco nodded. “Maybe I’ll take a nap. Have you eaten lunch?”

“I microwaved some popcorn,” Isco said, tilting his head a little towards the kitchen. There was a small bowl of popcorn sitting on the table. “Waiting for you.”

So Franco changed out of his tracksuit and watched Isco eat the popcorn while watching TV because he was adamant on not having food in his room but couldn’t bear not to watch Isco stuff kernel after kernel of popcorn into his mouth like he was an addicted child. He ended up dozing off on the couch, on the end with the extended leg rest, as Isco munched away.

He woke up in the early evening about two hours later to Isco using his abdomen as a headrest, lying along the length of the couch playing with his phone. Franco wrapped his arm around Isco’s head and tilted Isco’s chin upwards so Franco could smooch him.

“Ew, evening breath,” Isco said, laughing softly. He went back to playing with his phone, but turned on his tummy so he was closer to Franco.

Franco checked his phone. There was a text from Matias saying that they’d meet at the local Argentine restaurant at seven, and another one from Isco to the group chat with a selfie he’d taken with a sleeping Franco. It was captioned, _See? He’s okay. Just sleepy._

That same photo was posted on Isco’s Instagram story with Franco tagged.

Franco really was living life in the public eye now.

They got changed and headed to the Argentine restaurant, where Matias and Joaquin were waiting. They did that whole formal hand-shaking thing although there was literally no need because Isco got into it right away. He chattered away as they got a table, and then continued chattering with Joaquin and Matias, who were more than happy to entertain him. Franco just sat and watched. He was contented just doing that. He even ordered the food for everyone because Matias and Joaquin couldn’t multi-task, and Isco knew nothing about Argentine food anyway.

“Wow,” Isco said as the food arrived. He looked at Franco for a while, and then at Joaquin and Matias. “I feel like I’m in Argentina.”

Then after a brief pause, “Wait, is that racist? I feel like that was racist. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be racist.”

And Franco burst into laughter because Isco suddenly looked so flustered and his head was just darting about trying to gauge everyone’s reactions. He narrowed his eyes at Franco when Franco just continued laughing. He was like. Isco looked like he was at a dinner trying to impress his in-laws or something. It was _funny_.

“Well,” Joaquin finally said. He gestured to the deco in the restaurant and the food on the table. “It’s an Argentine restaurant. I’m guessing you’re supposed to feel like you’re in Argentina.”

Isco’s shoulders sagged in relief and Franco started laughing again. Isco glared at him again but forgave him immediately when Franco pushed the pasta in front of him. “Here, your favourite.”

The meal went more quietly than before, the four of them only speaking when Isco asked about the dish or how it was cooked or remarked on how similar it was to Spanish food. And then Isco asked about how it was like growing up in Argentina, which made Matias and Joaquin totally gang up on Franco because they both grew up in Tucumán and afterwards played for River Plate and they had tons more things to tell Isco than Franco could himself, so they cut Franco off every time they could. They talked about the food – claimed that their cuisine was superior, of course – about the environment, about their families, about the food their grandmas cooked. It was endless. Franco just sat and listened.

They finally headed home after dinner at around half past eight, so stuffed they could barely walk. Franco let the three young men walk ahead of him as he strolled, casually eavesdropping on their eager chatter. How the fuck did they have so much _energy_? Franco was tired just from interacting with them the whole night. He didn’t even talk much. He was just tired by being _there_. Isco was the only person Franco never got too tired around.

Isco soon realised Franco was missing and turned around to look for him. He skipped back to Franco and hooked his arm in Franco’s. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. “You having fun?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco beamed. “Your friends seem to like me.”

“’Course they do,” Franco said. He smoothened Isco’s hair back on his head. It was fluffy and in perfect condition for Franco to rest his hands in.

Isco tiptoed to kiss Franco on the lips. They got carried away for a little while until there were sudden barfing noises coming from where Joaquin and Matias were. Franco turned to see Joaquin holding his phone up to video Isco and Franco, and then turning it to Matias, where all the barfing noises were coming from. Joaquin laughed and stopped videoing to let Matias do some quality checking.

“Oi!” Franco yelled as Isco laughed.

“Too late, it’s on Instagram!” Joaquin called as they continued walking.

Franco sighed. “Kids,” he grumbled. “What is up with you young people?”

Isco laughed again. “Just ‘cause you’re old.”

“I’m not _that_ old.”

Isco didn’t argue, just leaned his head on Franco’s arm as they walked, like he knew Franco was too tired to talk. They bid goodbye to Joaquin and Matias after taking a selfie – _see,_ young people – and headed home.

“You’re not from Tucumán, right?” Isco asked once they were showered and in bed.

“Nope, Franco yawned. “I’m from Córdoba.”

“Same place as Paulo?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And which team did you play for?”

“Belgrano. From Córdoba.”

“Did the both of them come in 2009?”

“I think Mati did but Tucu was too young,” Franco scratched his head. “I don’t really remember.”

They talked a while about Franco’s childhood and how it was like growing up in Córdoba. Franco was tired, honestly, but he saw all the effort Isco was putting in to understand Franco’s background, so he obliged. He loved watching Isco’s eyes light up at the mention of a random fact or soften when Franco talked about his family.

He told Isco that the Córdoba in Argentina was named after the Córdoba in Spain, and Isco was really impressed. He asked Franco if he felt a little more at home when the train passed by Córdoba on the Madrid-Seville route. Franco laughed because that was such an Isco thing to ask.

He told Isco that Córdoba had heavy European influence and there were a lot of Italian-Argentines or Spanish-Argentines. Which Franco thought was nice, because he was mixed himself. He told Isco that Tucumán was one of the most historically rich places in Argentina and the people from there were very proud of their hometown. He felt like he was just randomly babbling away, but Isco listened attentively to every word just like he did whenever Franco was being a nerd.

“I wanna go to Argentina one day,” Isco said softly after Franco had finished.

“I’ll take you,” Franco smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I wanna go to Córdoba and Tucumán. And the capital.”

“Buenos Aires.”

“Yeah, that.”

“You didn’t know the capital is Buenos Aires?”

“I did!”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t know if I was right.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not! Buenos Aires is the capital! I knew that!”

Franco laughed. Isco was. He was such a fucking dork. “Asshole,” Franco said.

They calmed down a bit and Isco asked Franco if he knew the capital of Spain, just for fun. Franco said yeah, of course, it was Barcelona. Isco slapped him on the nose. Hard.

Then it all became quiet. Isco didn’t sleep, didn’t even close his eyes, just lay there with his legs tangled together with Franco’s and his face inches away, hands fiddling with the tips of Franco’s hair. He looked like. Like he was too excited to sleep.

“Hey,” he said when Franco had accidentally dozed off. “You know you said you wanted to get baby stuff for Junior?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Do you still want to?”

“Of course.”

“We could go tomorrow,” Isco said softly, and Franco opened his eyes and saw him gazing eagerly over. “We could go pick out some stuff. I mean, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. He used his thumb to trace circles in the hair above Isco’s ear. He was so glad that Isco was letting him be a part of Junior’s life. That Franco wasn’t being made to feel like he was an intruder. “Okay. Of course.”

Isco smiled. He used his hand to close Franco’s eyes, then pulled Franco close so Franco was nestled comfortably in Isco’s chest. “Sleep, baby.”

Franco fell asleep in the safest place in the world.


	29. In Your Warmth I Forget How Cold It Can Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Warmth by Bastille.

The next day, Franco and Isco went to the mall for lunch and for some baby shopping.

Isco wanted some frozen yoghurt after lunch so Franco let him get some even though it meant they couldn’t actually step into any stores before Isco finished.

“How many pumps should I get?” Isco asked while they were in the queue.

“One?” Franco narrowed his eyes. “Zero. I’m the only one who can give you a pump.”

Isco burst into laughter and Franco looked really proud of himself for amusing Isco. He hooked his arm in Isco’s and just stood there looking at Isco with this big smile on his face.

“That’s not what I meant, you fucking pervert,” Isco finally managed to say. “I meant like, how many thingies of yoghurt.”

“How many thingies of yoghurt.”

“Like,” Isco gestured at nothing. “How many times should she press the thing?”

“I’m the only one who can press –“

“I get it!”

Franco laughed. “Get one,” he suggested. “I can give you more. Later. At home.”

Isco rolled his eyes. Franco may be quiet and reserved most of the time, but once he started, he didn’t stop.

Anyway, because they couldn’t get into any stores, he just walked next to Isco and satisfied himself by looking through windows even though Isco told him to go inside by himself. It was like he didn’t feel safe without Isco by his side. Or like, he was shy. The latter seemed more plausible. Isco fed him random mouthfuls of yoghurt so he’d chill a little.

After Isco was done, they headed first to the baby store and then to the department store for comparison. They eventually returned to the baby store even though their stuff cost more because Franco was all anal about quality. Isco told him he didn’t need to get such expensive things for Junior and Franco was in turn anal about how anal Isco was being about money, so Isco just fucking let him be.

They spent some time picking out a cot, and there was no one around so they just took their time examining the different models. A salesperson came by and explained some things, and Isco listened to him and asked some questions but Franco appeared uncomfortable to have someone watching him so he just wandered through the cots on his own.

The salesperson eventually left them alone after Isco ran out of questions to ask. Isco found Franco at the farthest end of the cot section, looking at a pair of polished wooden cots, one white and one dark blue.

“He told me these can be converted to beds,” Isco told Franco.

“Yeah,” Franco said distractedly. He went over to them and slid the rails off the blue one to show Isco. “Which do you prefer?”

“I don’t know, it’s your house.”

“It’s your baby.”

“It’s your money.”

Franco went silent for a while. He slid the rails back down and took a step back. Then he finally said, “I guess the blue one would be nicer if the rails were thicker.”

“Mmhmm,” Isco said. Thinner rails meant a bigger risk of things getting stuck between the bigger gaps. “And white matches your white as fuck house.”

“That’s racist.”

Isco slapped him on the shoulder. “As in, there is not one piece of furniture in your home that isn’t white.”

Franco laughed softly. He checked the serial number of the white cot and wrote it down for later. They found a small mattress and put it in their trolley. Then they headed over to storage and found a tiny wardrobe for Junior. Franco wrote down the serial number for that, too.

“Speaking of wardrobes,” Isco said as they started walking to – he didn’t exactly know where because Franco was leading the way, but he guessed it was probably towards the bedding and pillows.

“We finished speaking about wardrobes,” Franco pointed out.

“ _Speaking of wardrobes_ ,” Isco repeated. “Why do you have this huge empty space in yours?”

Franco went quiet for a while. Just. Just completely quiet. Isco thought maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Maybe it was a sensitive question.

Then Franco said, really softly it was almost more like a breath of air than a proper whisper, “It’s for you.”

“What?” Isco asked.

“It’s for you,” Franco said again. “To…to put your stuff. You know. Leave your stuff. So you don’t have to…to haul it around whenever you come.”

It was Isco’s turn to go quiet because he was suddenly just. Just speechless. Franco wanted him to _move in_.

“It’s for me?” Isco finally asked, softly.

Franco nodded.

“Like…mine? Like…I have a little part of your house?”

Franco nodded again and smiled. “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” Isco whispered.

“Yeah,” Franco said again, then shrugged. “I mean, I’m quite surprised someone as messy as you hasn’t left anything lying around my place yet.”

Isco laughed. “What are you talking about? I’m neat and tidy.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. In my own way.”

Franco didn’t argue with that, so they walked silently for a while, looking at all the different bedding options. Franco picked out a few.

“I have a little space for you, too,” Isco said as Franco passed him a few pillows.

“You mean the one you use to store all the things you stole from me?” Franco asked.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Isco said.

Franco laughed. “Thank you,” he said.

“You don’t have to bring anything when you come over,” Isco said, hooking his arm in Franco’s and greatly dampening Franco’s ability to check out things properly. “Not even your lame shower gel thingy.”

“’Cause you stole an entire set of it, I know. You think I didn’t notice, but I did.”

Isco smiled. He loved opening his wardrobe to the scent of Franco’s clothes. And now – and now Franco wanted to do the same. “I love you,” Isco said.

“I love you, too,” Franco gave Isco’s hair a ruffle.

They strolled down the aisle slowly, less because Franco was taking his time to look at things and more because Isco was clinging on to him and slowing him down. He managed to pick out two rugs, though, one with a train track and the other with the solar system.

They met a middle-aged couple near the end of the aisle. It was obvious why they were there because the woman was pregnant. They looked pretty excited to see Isco and Franco, and walked right up to them eagerly, surprising them.

“Having a baby?” the guy asked. Without even saying hi, or anything.

“That’s rude,” his wife whispered to him, then said to Isco and Franco. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Isco said. Then there was a short awkward silence.

“Shopping for your son?” she asked with a smile.

“Mmhmm,” Isco smiled.

“Are you two going to move here?” the guy spoke again. “To Seville?”

Isco shook his head. “Uh, we’re just…for when we come over to see Franco.”

“That’s nice,” the girl said. “We…uh, we saw your video. We think it’s great.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled.

“We think what you’re doing is great,” the dude said. “I mean, I don’t…know any gay people, personally. But I know what you have to go through is difficult. And, you know, you have a son and everything, which just…I think it’s really awesome.”

“Thank you,” Isco said. Franco remained silent throughout. Isco had learnt not to take too much notice to that. Besides, when he turned to Franco, he was smiling – he looked a little bewildered and uncomfortable, but he had a little smile on his face.

Then there was another tiny awkward silence before they asked for a photo, which Isco and Franco obliged to. They headed to the next aisle after that, leaving Isco and Franco alone.

Franco still didn’t open his mouth, just started to walk again, hands tightly gripping the trolley handle. He stopped looking at the shelves, instead fixing his eyes on the stuff already in their shopping trolley.

Isco pried one of Franco’s hands around the trolley handle and held it. It was sweaty.

“You okay?” Isco asked softly.

Franco nodded. He looked. He looked kinda frenzied. Not visible to the random person’s eye, but glaringly so to Isco’s. So maybe he hadn’t appeared so in the photo, but. But to Isco, Franco looked like he was having an internal panic attack.

“They’re nice,” Isco offered.

Franco nodded again. He gripped Isco’s hand more tightly.

They walked quietly for a while. Franco started looking around again but he didn’t look like he was actually _seeing_ anything.

“I think it’s nice to know that there are people who care for us,” Isco said, desperately trying to spark a conversation.

“Yeah,” Franco said. That was all he said.

Isco stopped. He stopped in his tracks, reached up, and grasped the back of Franco’s neck. He pulled Franco down for a kiss; just a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

“I love you,” he whispered. _I don’t know what’s happening but I love you_.

“I love you, too,” Franco breathed. He wrapped his arms tightly around Isco and squeezed, and Isco just. Isco hugged him back as hard as he could. So he didn’t know what was going on, but he’d take this step by step. Franco wanted a big hug. Isco could give that to him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Isco asked, his voice muffled in Franco’s shoulder.

Franco nodded. “Can we…can we just not talk about it?”

“Okay,” Isco said. Maybe. Maybe if Franco wanted to talk about it next time, he’d talk about it. Maybe not now. Isco could deal with that. He had a feeling he knew what it was about, anyway; it was probably about being approached in public. It was – it was different now. Being approached now was different from being approached before. Like their lives had suddenly been divided into ‘before the video’ and ‘after the video.’

Franco gave him another kiss and then let him go so they could continue walking. Isco took over the trolley and Franco just walked silently next to him, hands in his pockets as he stared down at his shoes, trying to coordinate his footsteps with Isco. Isco knew he was even though he didn’t say a word, because Isco intentionally gave a skip so they were out of step, and Franco glared at him.

“You know how to play the guitar?” Isco asked, just so the silence wouldn’t tip over into uncomfortable.

Franco smiled at the ground. Now he was trying to walk within the tessellated rectangular tiles and not step on the cracks, which meant his feet went all wonky when the tiles changed direction. “How’d you know that?”

“I opened the wardrobe for a blanket and saw the guitar. And the empty space. My empty space.”

“Your empty space,” Franco repeated. “Yeah, I know a little guitar.”

“Me, too.”

“You have a guitar?”

“Yeah, an electric one.”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“It’s way back in my closet.”

“Is it coming out any time soon?”

“Maybe when you come over,” Isco said, and it took him like, ten whole seconds to get it. “Wait, I just got the joke.”

“I can’t believe your guitar is gay and wants to come out to me.”

Isco laughed. He was just happy that Franco could joke again.

The silence between them remained, but this time it wasn’t tense. Nor was it confused or panicky. It was just. Just comfortable. They headed to the self-service area and found the cot and wardrobe under their serial numbers, each taking one of them and heading over to the cashier together. Franco paid for everything and Isco let him because he knew Franco really wanted to.

Franco returned the favour by letting Isco take the wheel as they drove home because he knew Isco wanted to. He sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

Then he suddenly asked, “How do you deal with it?”

“Deal with what?” Isco asked. He turned the corner to the last big street before leaving the city centre.

“With everyone knowing what’s going on in your life.”

Okay, so Franco was ready to talk about it. But Isco didn’t know how to answer him.

“Are you mad at me for telling them we were getting stuff for Junior?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

Isco afforded him a quick glance before turning back to watch the road.

“I’m really not mad at you,” Franco said.

“There’s always going to be people recognising us and coming up to us,” Isco said. “What are we supposed to do? Never go out together again?”

Franco turned to the passenger window and stared out of it for a long time, like he didn’t know what to say. Or like he didn’t want Isco to see that he was upset.

“I like it when our relationship is…ours,” he finally said. “Not other people’s. You and me…I like it when it’s ours.”

“But you were okay with coming out?”

“I still am,” Franco said. “I just. I don’t know.”

“Franco,” Isco said. “You know when you’re walking on the street and you see a couple holding hands? In that moment, however short it is, their relationship is yours to see and to feel. They’ve shared it with you. They’ve shared it with the hundreds of people they walked past that day when they decided to go out. So…like, I think, there is always a tiny part of every relationship that is shared. Unless it’s completely private of course.”

“But that’s just a little bit.”

“I’ll stop posting things online without asking you.”

Franco shook his head. He sighed. Then he shook his head again. “No. Don’t do that. I just. I want you to be normal. I just. I’ll deal with it.”

“Franco,” Isco said desperately. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to do anything. Maybe just…just talk to me for a while.”

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

“Anything.”

Isco gave it a brief thought. He thought maybe he’d try to answer Franco’s question.

“The thing about being so public,” Isco started. “Is how free it makes you feel. I mean, I get tired of hiding things. I get tired of choosing what I want people to know. You know that, right? It makes me feel…like I’m supposed to be hiding. Like, for example, what is it about buying stuff for Junior to put at your place that is so disgraceful that people get to judge us about it? There’s _nothing_. And if they’re judging us for it, then it says a lot more about them than it does about us.

“And the second thing about being so public is that…you can’t let it get into your head. You can’t let the reaction get into your head. People think what they want to think. No matter how private or public you are, people are going to have something to say about you. You’re too private and people say you have a lot of things to hide or that you’re a prude. You’re too public and people say you’re a mess. There’s no way you can be right, not by being public figures like we are. So…people react however the fuck they want to. They can’t tell you how to live your life. You can’t let them. If you just continue doing what you do and fucking being a star, then you’ve won. You’re doing what you love to do and you’re acing it. In the end, whatever the fuck they want to say won’t mean the tiniest thing.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Franco asked. “That people know everything about you. It’s like…it’s like you’re giving them bullets to shoot you with.”

“No,” Isco said. “It doesn’t bother me. The point is, it’s _my_ life. If there are any bullets, they are in my hands. It’s like I’m telling them, this is how I live. This is my life and this is how I live it, like it or not. And I’m confident that this is how I want to do it. I’m confident that I know what’s right for myself. So they can say what they want with the knowledge they have. It doesn’t change anything. There is nothing wrong with me or how I live or how I feel, and I’m very fucking sure about that. So I’m not giving them bullets. I’m giving them guns with no bullets. You think they’ve got me, but they don’t.”

“Do you think they get tired?” Franco asked after a short silence. “Of talking shit.”

“Definitely.”

“But then new people take their place.”

“Just filter them out,” Isco said. “Franco. Franco, you’ve got to get this. There’s no end to people talking shit. There is no end. The world has like what, seven billion people. There’s always going to be people talking shit. And you’re so – you’re so fucking beautiful, Franco. You’re so fucking beautiful and so fucking _perfect_ and you shouldn’t be ashamed of that. You shouldn’t be scared of that. Because I love you and I’m so fucking proud of you and proud to call you my boyfriend and I want the entire world to know how beautiful you are and that I’m not ashamed of loving you at all, in fact I am so fucking sorry that nobody else gets to experience this beauty.”

Franco gave a soft, shy laugh. Then he asked politely, “Can you take one hand off the wheel and give it to me?”

Isco laughed. It was just so typically Franco to ask that instead of just grabbing Isco’s hand because he was afraid they’d get into an accident or whatever. He was so. He was so paranoid but Isco loved how he was always safe. He gave his hand to Franco and Franco pressed a gentle kiss on the back of it before placing it back in Isco’s lap and holding on to it. Because his arm was longer and easier to stretch across the gearshift instead of Isco having to do it. Isco loved his considerate boyfriend so fucking much, fuck, he was just. He felt like he could explode.

“Is it okay if I need some time to get used to this?” Franco asked.

“Of course,” Isco squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to ask me for permission.”

“I just want you to be yourself. I want you to continue doing the shit you do because this is the Isco I fell in love with.”

“I want you to be yourself, too. And it’s okay if that means you’re more private. Or if you yell at me for posting things that are supposed to be private.”

“I know you won’t do that. You have this line. You don’t know it but you have a line.”

“How do _you_ know, then?”

“You’ve never posted any photos after sex.”

“Now you’ve made me notice. Now we gotta go home and have sex so I can post an after-sex photo.”

“Fuck you. Shut the fuck up.”

“I guess you’re right,” Isco said. “I do have a line. Maybe it comes naturally to me. You know, to know the line.”

“Yeah, like the whole sexual or romantic attraction thing with me.”

Isco smiled. He was glad he could talk this freely to Franco and Franco would try to understand his point of view instead of arguing with him.

“Do you regret it?” Isco asked. “Doing the video?”

Franco gave that a long thought. A really long thought. A thought so long it lasted until they pulled up in front of Franco’s place.

“No,” he finally said. “Maybe the world had ten questions and we answered five of them. So it’s a good thing. It clears things up.”

“And if ten more questions pop up?” Isco asked.

“Then fuck it. I may be answering questions for the rest of my life but at least I’m doing it with you.”

They got out of the car and hauled everything inside, but alas, they did not have sex just so Isco could post an after-sex photo.

Instead, Franco hauled everything into the guest room immediately, even though Isco told him to chill and rest for a while on the couch. Which Isco did. On his own. While Franco disappeared into the guest room for like, a half hour.

“What are you doing?” Isco called. There was no answer. Isco sighed. Franco made him look like a fucking slob.

He decided against getting up and going to find Franco. He was too lazy.

Franco came outside another ten minutes later, holding a piece of paper and excitedly running up to Isco and jumping on the couch with his legs folded under him. He held the paper in Isco’s face, a big proud smile on his own.

Drawn on it was a blueprint of how the guestroom was going to look like with all of Junior’s stuff sharing the space with the queen bed that was already there. It was very neatly drawn, everything meticulously labelled, along with the dimensions.

“What do you think?” Franco asked eagerly.

“Looks great,” Isco said.

“Junior gets to be near the window,” Franco said.

Isco realised he’d been looking at the blueprint upside down. He did a mental _oops_ and turned it over. Fortunately, Franco didn’t notice. He was too excited. “Cool,” Isco said.

“Awesome,” Franco said like he was an excited teenager. He hopped up again and grabbed the blueprint. “I’m gonna start now.”

“Now?” Isco groaned. “Does it have to be now?”

“Yes,” Franco said, his voice fading as he went into the guestroom.

Isco sighed. He turned off the TV and got up, ambling into the guestroom behind Franco. Franco already had the cot pieces out of their box and was sitting on the ground in his jeans reading the instruction booklet.

Isco went to Franco’s room and grabbed a pair of shorts from the laundry basket. He went back to where Franco was and threw it into Franco’s hands so the instruction booklet fell out of it. “Change your pants,” he said. “It’s more comfortable.”

Franco did so obediently. Isco did the same and rejoined him, sitting next to him and waiting for instructions.

He didn’t receive any, because apparently Franco preferred to do everything on his own. So Isco just sat there, watching him and trying to figure out what he was doing. At one point he grabbed the instruction booklet and tried to figure it out himself, but he got some screws stuck on his soles and Franco yelled at him because he’d spent the past five minutes searching for those screws.

Then he decided not to bother Franco by butting into the space he was using, so he went behind Franco and leaned his cheek on Franco's back, his arms around Franco’s waist. But then Franco complained that Isco was making him feel claustrophobic and he accidentally bonked Isco on the head with one of the wooden planks – actually, Isco thought maybe he did that on purpose – and then yelled at him again.

So Isco gave up. He got up and went to Franco’s room, opening the closet again and looking at his little empty space. He thought of leaving some of his clothes, but they were already worn and not yet washed and Franco would be fucking mad _again_ , so he didn’t. He just got a little creepy and stuffed his face into Franco’s clothes and let the scent flood his nose. Franco just. Franco smelled so fucking good.

Also, all his clothes were black, grey, white, or red. Literally all of them.

Isco took the guitar and went back to the guestroom. Franco had made some progress and was now fixing the first of the vertical sides onto the bottom frame.

Isco sat down behind him and started playing the guitar. It was a little out of tune so Isco tuned it a little. He strummed it to some random Coldplay song that Alvaro couldn’t fucking stop singing when Isco was with him two days ago and was now stuck in Isco’s head.

Franco turned and beamed at him when he started to sing, watching him for a while before going back to fixing the damn cot. When Isco peeked, he saw that Franco was smiling.

So Isco played all the different songs that came to his mind, some of them more than once. He played Can’t Help Falling In Love four times. Franco didn’t seem to mind. He even started swaying gently side to side, seemingly just to entertain Isco.

He finished the cot about a half hour later and started on the tiny wardrobe, which only took him like ten minutes because it was just pieces of plastic connected together at the corners. And also because Franco was good with his hands.

He crawled to Isco and just knelt there, bending forward a little with his knuckles resting on the ground in front of him, eagerly watching Isco’s little performance. Savouring every second of it. The smile never left his face. Isco got a little hot and bothered under his gaze, but it never left him. Not even the slightest. Not even when he started playing and singing Can’t Help Falling In Love the fifth time. Instead, the smile grew wider.

Isco gave a little bow when he ran out of songs, stretching his right arm out. Franco gave an adoring laugh, and then leaned forward until his lips landed on Isco’s.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss but leaving his head pressed against Isco’s.

“I love you, too,” Isco closed the gap for another kiss. And another. He threaded his fingers in Franco’s hair and tugged gently before moving his hand down Franco’s cheek and his jaw and to the back of his neck, the both of them leaning over the guitar and working on each other’s mouths so desperately it was as if their lives depended on it. And he got lost in it. Isco got completely lost in the kiss and he wasn’t apologetic about it at all.

Franco pulled away with a smile and a gentle boop on Isco’s nose. He went to check on the cot again, comparing the extra pieces to what was shown on the instruction booklet to make sure he didn’t miss out anything. He was so meticulous. He was going to be such an amazing father.

He took his phone and held it up at Isco, who was just sitting there uselessly and just giving the guitar random strums. “Smile for me,” he said.

So Isco did. He beamed wide at Franco and Franco laughed.

A couple of seconds later Isco’s phone buzzed. _Instagram: fdv2289 tagged you in their story._

It was that very photo of Isco smiling over Franco’s guitar nestled in the gap between his crossed legs, arms draped over it. _My little magician,_ Franco had captioned it, followed by a top hat emoji.

And Isco thought about the feeling in his chest, that very same feeling that came to him whenever Franco was around. Like. Like his heart was floating in a bath of rose petals. This feeling that nothing could ever come between them or at them. The feeling of security and serenity and the knowledge that everything would be perfect even if they were the only two people left in the entire world.

It was magic. The feeling was magic and Isco wasn’t the magician, Franco was.

\------

Franco watched Real Madrid’s game against Osasuna in his hotel room in Las Palmas.

He saw the dude’s leg being broken by the accidental collision, then afterwards Isco scoring the goal that brought Real Madrid ahead after Osasuna had equalised their first goal. Madrid eventually won by three goals to one.

 _Saw your goal,_ Franco texted Isco once the match ended. _I love you. I’m so proud of you._

Isco didn’t reply for a half-hour. Which wouldn’t have been unusual for any other person, but Isco always checked his phone after a match and he always replied Franco immediately.

 _You’re amazing,_ Franco added.

Still no reply.

Matias said good night and went to sleep, so Franco turned off all the lights and hid under his blanket using his phone, wishing he could turn the brightness down even more because it was hurting his eyes. He stared at the text conversation, willing Isco to come online and reply him, but Isco didn’t.

So Franco called him.

Isco took the call after the seven longest rings of Franco’s life.

“Hey,” Franco whispered.

Nothing from Isco for a few seconds, then in a soft, wobbly sigh, “Franco.”

“Hey,” Franco said again. “What’s up?”

“He’s in hospital,” Isco said.

“Who’s in hospital?”

“Tano. I broke his leg and he’s in hospital.”

“Did you go see him?” Franco asked gently.

“I called him. I called him and I said I was sorry.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, but,” Isco took a deep breath. “I broke his leg. Franco.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Franco whispered. He heard Matias stirring in his sheets so he went outside with his keycard and shut the door. “Hey. Alarcon. You okay?”

“I broke his leg. Franco. I heard it and I felt it and I saw it. It was – I was –“

“Okay,” Franco said. He understood. After the adrenaline of the match wore off was when everything else came flooding in. Isco’s focus on the match probably took his mind off it until the match ended. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry. I told him I was sorry.”

“I know. He’s fine, yeah? He’ll get well.”

“Franco,” Isco sobbed. “I miss you. I want you to hold me and tell me it’s all okay.”

“It’s all okay. Everything is okay. It wasn’t your fault, okay? It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

“I _broke his leg._ ”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do it on purpose and you’re sad and sorry about it and it was never your fault, okay? It was just, it’s just unlucky. Okay? I love you so much, Isco Alarcon, I love you.”

“I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”

Franco sighed. His boyfriend was having a fucking breakdown and here he was, in the fucking Canary Islands. He wished he could hold Isco. He wished he could hug Isco to sleep and tell Isco he loved Isco over and over and fucking over again.

“Are you alone?” he asked Isco. “Is Alvaro with you?”

“Yeah, Alvaro’s here.”

“Could you pass the phone to him, baby?”

So Isco did, and Alvaro didn’t even greet Franco before saying, “I tried everything. He’s just ignoring me. He’s just crying and ignoring me.”

“Could you hug him?”

“What?”

“Just go to him and wrap your arms around him.”

“I know what a hug is,” Alvaro grumbled. Franco heard some rustling, then, “I’m hugging him.”

“Why the fuck are you hugging me?” Franco heard Isco say.

“Franco asked me to,” Alvaro said.

“Tell him to imagine it’s me.”

“He said to imagine it’s him.”

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Isco sobbed.

Franco laughed. He didn’t know why he found that amusing, but. But it was.

“He’s laughing now,” Alvaro told Isco.

“Shhhhh,” Franco said. “You weren’t supposed to tell him that.”

“Okay, what do you want me to do now?”

“Just hug him until he stops crying.”

“Are you going away?” Isco asked Alvaro.

“He told me to stay until you stop crying.”

“I’m not crying,” Isco said, but his voice broke at the end of the sentence, making both Franco and Alvaro snicker a little.

“Tell him I love him,” Franco said.

“He says he loves you,” Alvaro said. “Fuck, do I have to be here for this? Can’t you just tell him yourself? This is disgusting.”

Then there was a loud static sound and Isco said into the phone, “Why are you making Alvaro spoon me?”

“Pretend it’s me.”

“I can’t! This is ridiculous!”

Franco laughed. “But is it working?”

“Yeah,” Isco said softly. “It is.”

“See? I let Alvaro spoon you. _Alvaro_. That’s how much I want you to be okay. I want it so much that I’m giving Alvaro a piece of you.”

“But I don’t wanna give Alvaro a piece of me.”

“He’ll return it.”

“He’s gross.”

“Are you better? Do you need anything else?”

“Yeah, I need a kiss.”

“I’m not going to kiss you!” Alvaro said in the background.

“He’s not going to kiss you,” Franco said. “I’m not gonna let him.”

“ _I’m_ not gonna let him.”

“Is he still spooning you?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him to go away.”

“Go away,” Isco said, and Franco heard a soft huff from Alvaro. Then there were soft thumping footsteps, after which Isco said, “Okay, he’s back in his bed.”

“Good. No more spooning.”

“Or forking,” Isco said, and then burst into laughter, and _fuck_ , Franco had never been more relieved in his entire life.

“Mmhmm. No spooning or forking when I’m not around.”

“I wanna fork you,” Isco said, and then giggled. God, he was delirious or something. He probably needed a long, nice sleep.

“You feeling okay?” Franco asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay. Well. I wanted to tell you that you look really hot when it’s raining and you’re all wet.”

“Yeah?” Isco said happily. “Does that make you want to…fork me?”

“Will you ever stop saying that?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“That’s a very unsexy way to talk dirty, though.”

“I’m glad you realised.”

“I love you, Franco Vazquez.”

“Love you, too,” Franco smiled. “You’re so amazing and you’re so good and I love you so much, and you need to stop beating yourself up over things that aren’t your fault. Okay? Not only about this. About me and Junior, too. You’re so fucking amazing and you’re perfect so stop trying to change things that you won’t be able to change.”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered, like he was crying again.

“Go have a nice, long sleep, okay? You deserve it. Your goal was great.”

“Yeah,” Isco said again. “Thank you.”

“Tano’s going to be okay. Yeah? He’s going to be okay.”

“Mmhmm,” Isco said, his voice thick, and fuck, Franco had made him cry again and Franco was a fucking loser. “What time’s your game tomorrow?”

“Dinnertime.”

“Could you…could you stay with me? For a little longer?”

“Okay,” Franco said. He got up and tapped the keycard on the door. “I’m going back inside now so I gotta whisper because Mati is asleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Isco whispered, like he was afraid he would wake Matias up too.

“You don’t have to whisper.”

“Oh. Never mind.”

“Wrap your blanket tightly around yourself and pretend it’s me.”

“Good idea,” Isco said. There were a few seconds of rustling. “See? Should’ve done this instead of asking Alvaro to spoon me.”

“Fuck you, I’m nice to spoon with,” Alvaro said in the background.

Franco laughed softly. He listened to Alvaro and Isco bicker for a while. Then Isco came back to Franco saying, “He’s such a bootlicker, you know?”

“I know,” Franco said. “He thinks I don’t notice.”

“Continue talking because you’re saying what I want to say and I can’t say it because he’s glaring at me.”

“That’s all there is. He’s a bootlicker. He thinks I hate him but I don’t and he’s overcompensating which is fine with me because I get my way.”

“I could kiss you, Franco Vazquez.”

“Close your eyes and ignore him.”

“I am,” Isco said, and Franco heard the smile in his voice.

Franco stayed on the phone with him, softly whispering to him how much Franco loved him. About how all the stars in the entire universe, billions more than their eyes could see, could never even match up to Franco’s love for Isco.

They only stopped when Franco fell asleep. Or Isco fell asleep. Franco wasn’t sure who had fallen asleep first. Maybe they’d fallen asleep at the same time. Somehow, that calmed Franco.

\------

Franco didn’t really remember his match against Las Palmas. He just ran around for seventy minutes and sat on the bench until the end, and then they won the match by a solitary Joaquin goal and the next morning Franco was on a plane to Madrid after severe pestering of the club staff to let him have a separate flight.

He arrived in Madrid in the afternoon of the day before Valentine’s Day, and Isco had long relented to Franco’s obsession over planning his entire week out and would automatically give Franco his schedule whenever it came out. So Franco knew that Isco was at training and would only be back in the early evening. And also, Junior had been passed to Sonia a few days ago.

Franco took a cab to Isco’s apartment to put all his stuff down, then took it back into the mall and headed to the florist. One look inside and he saw all the empty flower buckets and vases, so he knew he wouldn’t find anything there.

He walked back into town and popped into the biggest flower shop there. He spent the best part of an hour wandering around looking at all the flowers; there weren’t many choices this close to Valentine’s Day. There sure were a lot of large colourful signs left, though. And chocolates. But Isco didn’t like chocolates. And Franco wondered instead what a florist was doing selling chocolates, anyway. They weren’t even flower-shaped.

He spent such a long time in there that the guy at the counter eventually came up to him and asked, “Do you need help?”

“Uh…yeah,” Franco stammered. “Do you – um, do you have any roses left?”

“I’ll help you check. Colour?”

“Red, I guess.”

Then he disappeared and reappeared about five minutes later with a bouquet of red roses so huge that he looked like he was having trouble carrying it.

“Sorry, we don’t have any individual red roses left. Just this bouquet.”

“How many…uh,” Franco gestured at the bouquet. “How many are there?”

“A hundred.”

“Okay,” Franco said slowly. “I’ll take it.”

He went to the counter to pay and got a medium-sized packet of salmon rose petals. He asked the shopkeeper if there were red ones, but he was told that was the only packet left, so he bought it. He also bought a plain pink card. Then he felt silly holding a big-ass bouquet of roses and standing on the street, so he called a cab and waited in the shop.

There were like, ten customers coming in during the time Franco waited. They all saw him. They all recognised him. And they all decided that they’d like to make small talk with Franco as he stood there, almost cowering in the corner, sending out countless ‘please don’t talk to me’ vibes.

It was like after they’d tried to answer some questions, both from the media and the fans – everyone collectively decided that they now had the right to ask them even more. Isco and Franco gave them an inch, and they asked for a yard.

They asked him if the flowers were for Isco. That was the easiest question and the only one Franco was originally willing to answer. They asked him if he was in Madrid often. If he saw Junior often. If he preferred Madrid or Seville. They even asked about _Sonia_. To their credit, some people actually left – or tried to leave – Franco alone; but most of them just formed a little crowd around Franco and Franco’s palms began to sweat so he asked the shopkeeper for a bag to wrap the flower stems so they wouldn’t get soggy. The shopkeeper joked that he should hire Franco because he was good for business.

Franco got so fucking tired of answering questions that he almost broke the door running out of it when he saw his cab pull up. He hoped he wasn’t being rude or anything. He didn’t feel comfortable answering all those questions. He knew there was no harm intended or done by the asking and answering. But he was just. He felt uncomfortable talking about himself. Maybe if Isco had been around then there would’ve been no problem because Isco would answer all the questions confidently like he was on some quickfire trivia show. Or he’d grab Franco’s hand and just run away down the street. Whatever it was, Franco knew he’d be better with Isco around. Maybe he’d learn to be better when Isco wasn’t. He needed time for that.

On the cab ride home he remembered reading somewhere that yellow roses signified friendship and white roses signified death, so he got paranoid about what salmon roses meant. He googled it and found that it meant ‘desire and excitement,’ so that was a relief. Franco wondered if he was going to have any more panic attacks before he reached home. Fortunately, he didn’t.

He checked his schedule book once he got inside Isco’s house. Isco’s training had just ended, meaning he’d probably get home in around forty-five minutes.

That was no time at all for someone as obsessive as Franco, but his heart was still fucking racing so Franco had to sit down for ten minutes before he stopped shaking. Bubu was a great help. He curled up in Franco’s lap like a support dog and Franco stroked him rhythmically until he calmed down.

Then he got his ass up and started preparing everything because it was Franco’s first Valentine’s Day, it was _Isco and Franco’s_ first Valentine’s Day, and Franco was going to make sure everything was perfect for his perfect little boyfriend.

\------

Isco had to send Alvaro home after training because Paulo was in Madrid and using Alvaro’s car. Alvaro couldn’t stop talking about him. Isco turned the radio way up, hoping Alvaro would stop jabbering away, but Alvaro did not get the hint at all.

But it was nice. Isco and Alvaro had a Champions League match the day after the next, but Paulo and Franco’s matches were the following week. Paulo was already in Madrid. Franco was supposed to arrive the next day or something, Isco wasn’t really sure because Franco was being really dodgy about everything.  He did promise he’d be there on Valentine’s Day itself, though, which was the main point. Isco had a rough idea of what they were going to do, depending on what time Franco got there. He had training, but he could make time in the morning and at night. What mattered the most was Franco’s presence. For their very first Valentine’s Day.

When Isco got home, he found a bunch of pink rose petals at his front doorstep, gently bobbling along with the breeze. It made him smile, but it also made him confused. Because the only person Isco could think of who would do this was Franco, but Franco wasn’t supposed to be here.

There was no one in the house when Isco got his door open, but there was a trail of pink petals leading towards the back of the house. Isco followed it, curiously poking at the petals with his toe to see if they were real. They seemed to be. They certainly smelled real.

The petals led him outside to the backyard and right up to a gigantic bouquet of red roses sitting on one of the lawn chairs. Bubu was sitting in front of it obediently, like Franco had told him to. There was a card under his paw.

 _Happy Valentine’s Day,_ it read. _I love you to Uranus and back. From your Franco._

Isco laughed softly. It was cute. Franco was so cute. He’d even drawn two stick figures smiling and standing on a little circle – Uranus, Isco assumed – and a little heart.

Isco looked around briefly, wondering if Franco was fucking hiding in the bushes or something. He picked up the bouquet of roses. It was. It was fucking gigantic.

And then Franco suddenly appeared behind Isco while he was distracted and scooped Isco off his feet, bridal style, making Isco give this loud choking yelp that didn’t really sound like it came from a human.

“Hey,” Franco chuckled, a big smile on his face.

“Hi,” Isco gasped. The bouquet was, miraculously, still in his hand.

“You made a bird sound.”

“Shut up. What are you doing here?”

“For Valentine’s Day,” Franco said. “Surprise! I’m supposed to do a magician hand wave. I didn’t think this through. I wanna do a hand wave but I can’t actually do it because I’ll drop you. So just imagine me doing a hand wave.”

Isco laughed. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Kiss,” Franco demanded, puckering his lips.

Isco wrapped one of his arms around Franco’s neck to pull himself closer. He pressed his lips gently on Franco’s. “I love you.”

“I love you, Alarcon.”

“I missed you.”

“Me, too.”

“What else have you planned?”

“I’ll take you inside, then you’ll see.”

“Why didn’t you just put the bouquet inside then?”

“The sun is setting. It’s super romantic.”

Isco laughed. He looked up at the sky, fresh with hues of red. Franco followed him. They stood there for a while just staring at the sky like dorks.

“You can put me down, you know?” Isco asked.

Franco shook his head. “I like carrying you around.”

“That also why you didn’t put the flowers inside?”

“Mmhmm. It’s just an excuse to carry you around,” Franco said, and well. Isco liked being carried around, so he didn’t argue. Franco started to walk towards the back door. “Head.”

Isco ducked his head towards Franco’s chest as Franco stepped a little sideways into the doorway. He brought Isco to the bedroom, where there was another bunch of pink petals on the bed in the shape of a heart. God, Franco was so fucking cute Isco wanted to hug him to death.

“You can choose,” Franco said, walking into the bathroom after Isco ducked his head again. There were petals in the shower and the bathtub. “Bed, shower, or bath.”

“For what?” Isco asked.

“What does it look like?”

“Oh,” Isco said. “Are we gonna f –“

“Don’t say it.”

“Fork?”

Franco sighed. “Yes, choose a place to have sex in.”

“Choose a place to fork in.”

“No.”

“Say it. Say I have to choose a place to fork in.”

Franco sighed again. “Choose a place to fork in,” he said obediently.

“How about all three?” Isco suggested.

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. “Where do you wanna start?”

Isco pointed at the shower. “’Cause we dirty,” he said.

Franco burst into soft laughter. He looked a little proud of Isco. “Okay,” he whispered.

Then he finally put Isco down and took the bouquet of flowers. He left to place it on the table in the bedroom and when he returned, Isco was already three quarters naked.

“I wanted to do that for you,” Franco said sadly.

So Isco put all his clothes back on and let Franco take them off. It was ridiculous. Franco was so ridiculous. But at least that meant Isco could unwrap Franco as well, like the world’s best Valentine’s Day gift.

Franco picked the rose petals off the shower floor and dumped them into the sink. He stepped into the shower first and made sure the water was warm before pulling Isco in with this big smile on his face, and God, he was such a fucking gentleman and Isco tried to remember if he was always like this or if he was just trying his hardest because it was their Valentine’s Day eve celebration.

He didn’t manage to come to a conclusion before Franco pushed him against the tiled wall and started kissing him eagerly. Isco flinched at the chill it sent up his back, and Franco stopped to stare at him.

“It’s cold,” Isco informed him shyly.

Franco laughed. He wrapped Isco up in his arms and whispered, “Want me to warm you up?”

Then he slid his middle finger between Isco’s butt cheeks, sending a completely different kind of chill up Isco’s spine. He kept eye contact with Isco even when Isco buckled against him with a gasp, holding Isco’s gaze so fucking intensely that Isco felt holes being bored into his skull.

Franco seemed to take Isco’s lack of verbal response but multitude of physical response as a yes at first, starting to kiss Isco again and frotting their dicks together. He soon changed his mind and was unsure if he was supposed to go ahead, instead pulling away and raising his eyebrows questioningly at Isco. Isco was. Even at this stage of their relationship Franco was still insistent on hearing consent. Franco was so fucking amazing and Isco fucking loved him to bits.

He ran his hands down Franco’s abdomen and to his dick, tugging on it with his right and cupping Franco’s balls with his left. Franco’s gaze faltered, his hips keening forward for more. Isco met his lips. “Yes, I want you to warm me up,” he whispered.

And Franco took that immediately, pulling away from Isco with a nod and a contented smile and getting on his knees between Isco’s feet. He lowered his lips over the tip of Isco’s dick, slowly taking in the whole of Isco’s length. His hands gripped Isco’s thighs as he began to bob his head up and down, giving Isco a semi in no time at all because his mouth was so fucking magical and Isco could basically just come immediately if Franco used it the right way.

Franco eventually removed one hand from Isco’s thigh and slid it between Isco’s thighs to Isco’s bum, running a finger softly over Isco’s hole. He pushed Isco a little out of the shower stream and spat on his own finger before sliding it into Isco’s hole slowly. His mouth returned to Isco’s dick.

“Everything’s already wet,” Isco pointed out.

Franco pulled Isco’s dick out of his mouth and said, matter-of-factly, “Water isn’t a lubricant.”

Isco laughed. Franco was such a fucking nerd. “Are you sure? That’s pretty ironic, don’t you think?”

Franco rammed the rest of his finger into Isco’s hole, causing Isco to gasp and then get the message and shut his mouth entirely. He grabbed a handful of Franco’s hair, just holding on to it as Franco’s head moved. He watched the shower droplets bounce off Franco’s back and the top of his ass. It was pretty mesmerising. Almost as mesmerising as the feeling of Franco’s lips on his cock.

Isco was hard as _fuck_ when Franco was finally done with him. Franco got up and turned off the shower, reaching for the body wash and squeezing a generous amount on his palm. He lathered it up on Isco’s shoulders and arms and abdomen, his hands moving so softly they felt like feathers on Isco’s body. They felt like magic and they stunned Isco into standing still right where he was as Franco circled him like Isco was a work of art he was admiring.

Isco wanted to do the same for Franco but he was stopped by two firm hands on his shoulders. Franco hurriedly soaped himself, more recklessly and roughly than he’d done so with Isco, and then wrapped his arms around Isco from behind, aligning his dick with Isco’s butt crack.

Franco gave a sigh of relief as he began to move his hips, his dick sliding over Isco’s hole, the slippery soap greatly aiding in everything. He gently guided Isco forward a few steps so Isco could rest his palms on the glass wall, and he couldn’t actually kiss anywhere because it was all soapy so he started nibbling on Isco’s earlobe and the top of his jaw. Isco nudged his butt backwards and the nibble became a bite. He nudged his butt backwards even more and Franco’s hand started moving downwards until it was curled around Isco’s dick to give it a hard tug. And more hard tugs.

All the sound that ensued the next fifteen minutes was their coordinated soft moans and the soapy sound of their skin sliding against each other. Their bodies rocked in unison, so slowly and smoothly that Isco was torn between just leaving it slow and steady until they both burst at the seams, and telling Franco to get inside him immediately. He tried gripping onto something but didn’t find anything to, so his palms curled into fists against the glass. Franco continued almost obliviously, lips tracing the words ‘I love you’ into Isco’s cheek, into Isco’s ear, into Isco’s wet hair, over and over and over again.

He heaved a sigh when Franco finally tore himself away. A sigh that he wasn’t even sure himself was of relief or pent up sexual frustration. Franco turned the shower back on and reached out for Isco’s hands to pull him into the stream.

“You good?” he asked, using his big gentle hands to scrub Isco clean.

“Do you mean ‘you good’ as in ‘are you okay?’ Or ‘you good’ as in ‘are you ready for me to fuck you?’”

Franco laughed. “Both,” he said, using his thumb to remove the soap suds that were on Isco’s face.

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. He put his hands on Franco’s cheeks and squeezed. “To both.”

Franco leaned over and pressed his lips softly on Isco’s. They worked Isco’s mouth open so his tongue could get access, and then turned into a smile when Isco reached for Franco’s dick and grabbed it hard.

He grabbed Isco’s shoulders again and spun him around so he was facing the tiled wall. He turned the shower off, and Isco heard him spit on his hand again and position his fingers near Isco’s hole, pausing for a moment before sliding them inside. Isco let himself gently rock against Franco’s hand. He could barely take it. Like, if Franco’s fingers were a little wider and longer, it’d probably be enough for Isco to come.

Then Franco took his fingers out again, leaving Isco empty. Isco pressed his head against the wall, so desperate for some of Franco yet so willing to let Franco take control like he always had. He waited for Franco to spit on his hand again, and then coat his dick with it, and then. And then nudge at the opening of Isco’s hole with it, making Isco gasp and buckle.

“Hmm?” Franco asked.

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. “Yeah. Just. Yeah.”

So Franco slowly – _fuck_ , so slowly it made Isco’s dick throb with want – slid his entire length into Isco, holding on firmly to Isco’s waist to support him. Isco gave a gasp when he felt Franco’s abdomen against his back, a sign that he was fully inside. He rocked backwards as Franco began to move his hips, waiting for Isco to get used to the girth.

He started to move his hips in little circles when Isco nodded. Isco grabbed Franco’s hands and pulled until Franco’s arms were wrapped around him.

“Fuck,” Isco hissed when Franco began to thrust. Franco started to pull out but Isco held him tightly. “Oh, fuck. No. Don’t stop, just. Franco Vazquez, you’re so fucking big and you feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Franco mouthed against Isco’s shoulder, his lips still curled up in a smile. He pushed Isco harder against the wall until he was all pressed up against it. “You like this?”

“I like it when you have your way with me.”

Franco thrust harder in response, pushing Isco further and further into the wall each time until Isco’s cheek was all squished and Isco had to hold on to the wall for dear life. His hand curled around Isco’s dick again, jerking him off to the rhythm of his thrusts. His other hand slid up Isco’s arm until it was on top of Isco’s, his fingers filling the gaps between Isco’s.

Isco’s cock began to fucking burn and he had no idea why until Franco tightened his fingers and collected all of Isco’s precome on it. He licked it off as Isco craned his neck to watch.

“Fuck,” Isco whimpered again, squeezing his eyes shut. “We’re not going to make it to the other locations.”

“You think so?” Franco smiled. It was accompanied by a thrust.

“You’re gonna have to fork me three different times.”

“What the fuck, now you’ve ruined the fucking mood. Why the fuck would you say that? Asshole.”

“Fork. Fork fork fork.”

“Shut the fork up.”

“Aha! You said fork.”

“I can’t believe this is our dirty talk now.”

Isco laughed. His favourite Franco was nerdy Franco; following closely were flustered Franco and mildly annoyed Franco. “Take me to bed, Vazquez,” he said.

“That’s much better,” Franco said contentedly. He gently pulled out of Isco and pulled him briefly under the shower again to wash off any remaining soap. Then he turned the shower off and grabbed a towel to quickly wipe them both off.

“Carry me like a pretty bride,” Isco said when Franco tried to lift him off the ground.

Franco sighed. He carried Isco to the bed, bridal style, and put him down gently. But instead of crawling on top of Isco, he lay down next to Isco. Isco turned on his side and stared.

“You wanna be on top today?” Franco asked politely.

“Yeah?” Isco giggled. He felt all shy and fuzzy and it was embarrassing but he also didn’t give a fuck. “I wanna.”

Franco smiled lovingly at Isco and Isco melted even more. He was beginning to think he wasn’t even solid anymore and was just a puddle of goo on the bed.

Anyway, Franco grabbed Isco by the hips and pulled him on top, his smile turning into a big grin when Isco settled on his abdomen. He reached upwards and gently held Isco by the cheeks, his thumb running circles in the damp hair of Isco’s beard. His eyes searched Isco’s face for God-knew-what, but they were gentle and kind and the softest brown and Isco could look into them forever.

He tilted his head sideways to ask Isco if he was ready, and Isco nodded. Franco spat on his fingers again and spread it at Isco’s rim as Isco reached behind himself and gave Franco’s dick a few strokes before positioning it at his hole and lowering his hips over it.

Franco’s gaze had hardened when Isco turned back to him. His hands were on Isco’s hips but moved down to Isco’s thighs and gripped them tightly as Isco started to ride him. Isco ran his hands down Franco’s chest, down the familiar bumps of his abdomen. Franco was like a fucking work of art.

Isco moved his own hips in circles until he felt Franco hitting his prostate, the feeling pleasantly sore. He grabbed on to Franco’s hands and held them against the pillow on either side of Franco’s head, his mouth falling open with every hit. Franco seemed to get it, thrusting his hips upwards to meet Isco’s and quickly turning Isco into this slobbering, whimpering, wet mess, slumped over Franco with his lips tracing incoherent words on the skin of Franco’s neck.

Isco was so fucking close, honestly, he was trying his best to hold back and not just explode all over Franco before Franco was anywhere near climax. The fact that Franco was very earnestly jerking Isco off wasn’t helping one bit. He felt himself clench around Franco and Franco give a gurgling gasp in response, in turn making Isco’s dick even more tingly with arousal and – fuck.

“I’m gonna come,” Isco breathed, his hands pressing down hard on Franco’s chest.

“Fuck,” Franco said in a low, long whine. “Me too. I’m gonna come too.”

Why the fuck hadn’t he said that earlier? Isco gave a sigh as he climbed off Franco eagerly and took both their cocks in the circle of his hand. Franco propped himself up on his elbows, jaw falling open as he watched Isco thrust, the friction causing the both of them to moan in unison. Then he wrapped his hand around Isco’s, deciding that he’d take over; which was just as well, because his hand was larger and more well-equipped for stunts like this.

Isco wasn’t sure who came first, just that they both caused a huge mess on Franco all of a sudden. Isco buckled over and Franco sat up to meet him, his hand still working hard between their bodies. In all their haze they found each other’s lips, tongues working greedily to taste all they could of each other. Franco gave a little shiver and wrapped his arm around Isco’s waist, his right hand not stopping until Isco was dry.

“Holy fuck,” he panted.

Isco gave a little weird sound in response. He pushed Franco back down and collapsed on him, much to Franco’s exasperation because now they were both sticky and stuck together. To pacify him, Isco reached for a dirty towel hanging off the foot of his bed and wiped it off for Franco.

“That was so fucking good,” Franco breathed when Isco settled into his arm. Man, this guy was chatty after his orgasm.

“You’re so fucking good,” Isco said.

“I love you so much, you know that?” Franco said, pressing his lips on Isco’s temple. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Isco smiled. He draped himself over Franco, arms on either side of Franco’s head and fingers playing with the tips of Franco’s hair. “You’re here early.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“That’s why you were being so dodgy about everything?”

“Mmhmm,” Franco said proudly.

“Well, you did a good job.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled proudly. “I did a good job?”

“You did.”

“It’s my first Valentine’s Day. Ever.”

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. He gave Franco’s nose a kiss. “You’re the best. You’re nailing it.”

“I’m nailing it,” Franco repeated. “You know, they only had this bunch of red roses left?”

“Yeah? Okay, I’m sleeping with it tonight.”

“No, you’re sleeping with me. Rude.”

“Can it sleep with us?”

“Okay, but on your side.”

Isco got up and got the bouquet, skipping happily back to bed and placing it on his side. He tucked himself into Franco’s shoulder again. “Thank you,” he said. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Franco smiled. “I’m glad you like the flowers. I went through so much shit at the florist to get it.”

“What kind of shit?”

Franco went quiet for a while. He looked a little scared that he’d said too much. Isco raised his eyebrows and Franco shook his head. “Never mind.”

Isco let it go, because he thought if it was a big matter, Franco would come to him about it. Maybe he had to fight someone for the last bouquet. That was weird, but also really romantic, so Isco was taking it. “Okay,” he said softly. He pressed a kiss to Franco’s lips. “Hey, why are the petals pink and the roses red?”

“They’re not _pink_ ,” Franco said. “They’re salmon.”

Isco laughed. What a dork. “Okay, why are they salmon?”

“It was the only colour they had left. I hate that they don’t match.”

“They’re nice.”

“I’m sorry. It was so last minute.”

“No, hey. It was great. As long as you’re here.”

“It’s just, you know, Valentine’s Day is always…a really big day? I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. I promise. I just want to spend time with you.”

“Yeah? So…so I’m doing okay?”

“You’re doing perfect.”

A short silence.

“What do salmon roses mean?” Isco asked.

Then Franco looked really excited like he’d prepared for this question and was really proud of himself. “It means desire and excitement.”

Isco laughed. “So I fill you with desire and excitement?”

“Mmhmm. You fill me with all the good things.”

“You fill me with good things, too,” Isco said, grinning. “If you know what I mean.”

“You little minx,” Franco whispered. He poked Isco on the nose, hard, then kissed him on the lips.

“I’m _your_ little minx.”

“So,” Franco said after a minute of silence. “We made two of the three locations.”

“The fork locations.”

Franco sighed. “The fork locations.”

Isco laughed at Franco’s obedience. “Two out of three isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah,” Franco said, then suddenly let go of Isco and got out of bed. He went to his bag and dug in it for a while before pulling out a little purple container. “Hey, I brought bath salts.”

“You brought _bath salts_ ,” Isco said. He wanted to laugh but it was rude. But then he couldn’t hold it in and he burst out laughing anyway, so fuck it. “What – what flavour are they?”

“What _flavour_ are they,” Franco scoffed. He opened the bottle and scurried back to the bed for Isco to smell it. “They’re lavender scented.”

“Let’s use them now,” Isco suggested.

He dragged Franco into the bathroom before he could protest, and scooped the rose petals out of the tub. Franco shooed him to go take another shower and wash out his butt hole while he tended to the water and poured the bath salts. Then he joined Isco in the shower and helped him check his butt hole out and wash himself clean, and fuck, they were being so fucking domestic and lame and Isco loved it.

The bath was half-full when Franco stepped into it and sat down. It was filled right to the brim when Isco got in and draped himself over Franco’s chest, his head resting on Franco’s shoulder. The water was a little hotter than warm, but the perfect temperature to loosen all their muscles.

“You’re good at this,” Isco said sleepily.

Franco chuckled. “You think so?”

“Mmhmm. Best boyfriend in the world.”

Franco seemed really happy about that. He wrapped Isco up gently and kissed his head. “Did anyone bother you today?”

“Nope,” Isco said. “You?”

Franco paused really long before he answered, “No.”

“I love you,” Isco whispered. He wrapped his arms around Franco’s waist underwater and felt Franco relax. He hadn’t been aware that Franco was tense, but he felt Franco relax.

“I love you, too.”

Isco closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this comfortable in his entire life. He was. He was so fucking happy. He was happy that Franco had come to see him a day early. He was happy that he got to spend both Valentine’s Day eve _and_ Valentine’s Day with Franco. He was glad that Franco fucking _existed,_ that amazing man.

He told all of that to Franco, all the reasons he was happy, one by one, slowly, reluctantly opening his eyes just to see Franco’s smile grow bigger and bigger.

“I’m happy to have someone who’s so fucking ecstatic to hear about the reasons I’m happy,” was the last thing Isco said, when they were all wrinkly from the bath water.

Franco hugged Isco more tightly and nuzzled Isco’s temple with his nose. “Me, too,” he whispered.

Isco closed his eyes and thought that this was the exact way he wanted to die, in Franco’s arms.

\------

Franco woke up the next morning to the smell of bacon.

When Franco opened his eyes, there was a single red rose lying on Isco’s pillow. Franco laughed. He put on his pants and took the rose, twirling it between his fingers as he went outside to find Isco.

The ninety nine other roses were sitting in a huge vase in the middle of the dining table. Isco was in the kitchen, standing over the frying pan. Franco went up behind him and hugged him, making him jump.

“Morning,” he whispered.

“You’re awake,” Isco said. “Go back to bed.”

“No.”

“Go brush your teeth.”

“Okay.”

“And then go sit in bed and wait for me because this was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Okay, I’ll pretend I didn’t see or hear or smell anything.”

“Good,” Isco beamed. Franco had almost walked all the way to the bedroom when Isco called again, “Hey, Franco.”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I can’t hear anything. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Isco laughed. Franco went back to the bedroom and shut the door. He brushed his teeth and sat on the bed to wait.

About ten minutes later Isco came back inside with a tray containing two plates and two mugs of coffee. The plates were laden with bacon, eggs, waffles, and sausages.

“Hi,” Isco beamed. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Franco smiled. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

“Breakfast in bed?”

Then he stood there staring at Franco watching Franco silently debate between letting there be food on the bed and just enjoying a nice Valentine’s Day morning with his Valentine. Franco opened his mouth to protest, but then Isco was looking at him so earnestly so he shut his mouth. Besides, this was Isco’s house. Not Franco’s.

“Okay,” he finally said.

Isco scurried over happily and unfolded the two legs of the tray. He placed it on Franco’s lap and crawled in next to Franco.

They spent the morning feeding each other breakfast and coffee, and some food fell on the bed but Franco pretended not to notice or care. He talked to Isco about stars and galaxies. He told Isco he wasn’t actually sure they could stand on the surface of Uranus. He told Isco how after all this time, Isco was still his favourite galaxy in all the universes.

“You ever think,” Isco asked while chewing. “That there are some universes where we’re alone?”

“Alone?”

“Like, I’m by myself. Like I’m not in a relationship with you. Maybe we know each other, but. There’s no Isco and Franco. No Francisco.”

“Yeah,” Franco said softly. “Maybe, yeah.”

“It’s hard to imagine.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I don’t like it. I like all the universes we’re together. Like, as a couple. Maybe we aren’t in Spain. Maybe we’re living in like, Amsterdam. Or Mongolia or something. Maybe there’s a universe where we moved to Mongolia. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Super cool,” Franco smiled.

“You’re the only person in this world I’d move to Mongolia with.”

“Really? I’m honoured.”

“Franco, I love you.”

Franco’s heart turned all fuzzy with the sudden declaration. “I love you too, baby,” he whispered.

Then it was quiet for the rest of breakfast, like they didn’t know what to say. Which was fine. Franco didn’t feel like talking. He just wanted to sit there and watching Isco be a dork and chew with his mouth open, like Cookie Monster.

He drove Isco to training after breakfast, and headed into town to pass time. He walked slowly along the street with one hand in his pocket and the other holding Bubu’s leash, peering into store windows but not going inside. He wore a cap and tried to keep his head down, but people approached him every now and then for photos. Well, mostly photos. Franco could deal with photos. There were more photos than usual, but it was okay.

What Franco couldn’t deal with was the questions, again. Franco answered the first few, but then decided that if people were just approaching him for answers and not photos then he’d politely decline them. It worked for the most part, although Franco felt a little guilty leaving them high and dry. He tried not to make any eye contact.

He got tired of running – figuratively running – eventually so he decided he’d head home to wait. He popped by the supermarket quickly to get some groceries, thinking he’d make Isco a nice dinner. Then he went home and made some chicken stew and bolognaise sauce, leaving the former on the stove to cook while he drove back out to fetch Isco. It was a quick trip there and back, to Franco’s relief, as they didn’t run into any fans.

Dinner was ready after Franco cooked some spaghetti. He set the table with two candles and Isco laughed at him for five whole minutes.

“Where’d you get candles?” he asked as Franco made him sit down.

“I brought them,” Franco said. “It’s a candlelit dinner.”

“Franco, baby, darling,” Isco said. “It’s 2017. We’re not living in the 1800s.”

“I know,” Franco grumbled. “I just thought – I thought maybe a candlelit dinner would be romantic.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, hey, I’m just kidding.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know you’re trying. And you’re acing it. I promise, Franco, you’re fucking nailing this Valentine’s Day.”

“Really?”

“Really. Besides, every day is Valentine’s Day when I’m with you.”

Franco beamed. Isco always knew how to make things right. He always knew the right words to say. Franco wished he could be by Isco’s side 24/7.

They finished dinner quietly and Franco did all the washing up while Isco lay in bed doing nothing. Resting, maybe. He was probably tired.

When Franco went inside Isco was still just lying there, not sleeping. Not doing anything else, either. Just stoning or something. He smiled when Franco appeared.

Franco dug in Isco’s closet until he found the guitar, hidden way in the back. It was a nice black and white electric Fender. It was leaning on the amp but Franco decided he didn’t need an amp. He brought it to the bed under Isco’s curious gaze.

He tuned the guitar and started strumming it. Isco seemed to like Can’t Help Falling In Love, so Franco played that. And a few other slow songs so maybe Isco would be lulled to sleep. He played Can’t Help Falling In Love three times before Isco closed his eyes.

Isco fell asleep with a smile on his face, facing chest-down, his hand under Franco’s pillow.

Franco kept the guitar and crawled back in bed. He took Isco’s tiny hand in his and held it as tightly as he could without waking Isco up.

“I love you,” he whispered. There was no response from Isco. Franco kissed him softly on his head. “I had the best two days. I hope you did, too.”

Still no response. Franco gently combed Isco’s hair back on his head, but it popped back up like a cloud.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Franco whispered.

He burrowed into Isco’s chest and was relieved when Isco wrapped him up in his sleep with a sigh, like Franco was just an extra pillow. Franco tucked his head under Isco’s chin and fell asleep feeling happier and more complete than he had ever felt.


	30. I Can Feel Them Coming For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from No One's Here To Sleep by Naughty Boy ft. Bastille.

They both had matches the following midweek on Franco’s birthday, Isco in La Liga and Franco in the Champions League. Isco was pretty upset about it even though Franco said it was okay. Isco really wanted to spend Franco’s birthday with him. Even if it was just a few hours. But their schedules were way too packed.

What made things worse was that they ended up losing to Valencia. And Isco didn’t even get to play one minute.

He sat impatiently through the post-match briefing by Zidane, and then grabbed his things and left. Alvaro tried to talk to him about something, that chatterbox, but Isco told him he’d call later and just ran out through the door.

He got to the airport at 9.54pm, six minutes before the boarding gate closed for the latest flight to Seville – Isco couldn’t believe his luck when he found out it only ran on Wednesdays. He was the last one to board and everyone stared at him as he put his duffel in the overhead compartment and melted into his seat from exhaustion.

He took out his phone when the announcement came on to turn on flight mode. He sent one last message to Franco, a huge blue heart, before he turned flight mode on.

Then he smiled to himself for the entire flight because he couldn’t wait to see Franco’s stupid surprised face when he saw Isco.

\------

Matias and Joaquin dragged Franco out for tapas after their win against Leicester. Franco said they didn’t need to celebrate his birthday for him. They argued that they were just celebrating Joaquin’s goal and didn’t give a flying fuck about Franco’s birthday. So Franco went along.

They were busted immediately when the waitress brought a big variety dish of tapas to their table with a candle stuck in the middle of it. Franco rolled his eyes when they started singing the birthday song to him. He was embarrassed even when his family sang it to him – which they did, by the way, the previous day when they arrived in Seville to celebrate, and another time that morning when they took Franco out for breakfast – much less when his two idiot friends sang it to him in a public place. Franco had long overgrown big parties and attention for his birthday.

He thanked them for the treat, anyway, and swept the dish clean with them. He listened to them talk. Franco was the youngest in his family and Matias and Joaquin were like his younger brothers sometimes. They talked a lot, which worked for Franco, because he listened a lot.

“So how’s Isco?” Joaquin asked when he remembered Franco was actually sitting there.

“He’s good,” Franco smiled. “Yeah.”

“You two good?” Matias asked. “No…video backlash?”

“No,” Franco said, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I feel like…like everyone’s always watching me.”

Joaquin looked around the bar. Franco didn’t. He was too scared. “No one’s watching you,” Joaquin said.

“He meant figuratively,” Matias explained.

“Like, they’re always ready to question my every move, you know?” Franco sighed. “I don’t know. I keep getting stopped on the street for questions. Or like, having paparazzi follow me everywhere. That never happened to me before.”

“Are you,” Matias waved his hand around. “Okay with that?”

“I guess so, yeah,” Franco said.

“How’s Isco feel about it?” Joaquin asked.

“He’s fine. He’s always been good at the question thing. It’s just…when I’m not with him. When I’m alone. Then I feel very…lost.”

“Aww,” Matias said. “Maybe you’ll get used to it. You know, to rude and invasive people.”

Franco laughed. “I don’t think they mean to be rude and invasive.”

“They still are.”

“Anyway, we’ll protect you,” Joaquin said, leaning over the gap between Franco and himself and draping his arm over Franco’s shoulders. “We’ll walk with you everywhere and you’ll never be alone.”

“That’s a little creepy,” Franco pointed out.

“We’ll be with you when you need us,” Matias said, and okay, that sounded more reasonable. “Like maybe when you’re walking on the street to the grocery store and people are staring at you. Oh, I love grocery shopping! We should always go grocery shopping together.”

And that started them off on an entirely new conversation about grocery shopping. They paid for the food and left the restaurant, Matias and Joaquin walking on either side of Franco and jabbering away to each other while Franco just listened. It worked quite well, if Franco were to be honest. People shied away when they saw that the three of them were engrossed in conversation, even though Franco wasn’t really participating. There were less stares because – because Franco, the dude in a gay relationship with another footballer, was suddenly Franco, the dude out with his friends having fun on his birthday. Franco was normal again.

He got home at a quarter to midnight feeling exhausted for no reason. He hadn’t even played the match. He sat on the couch for a while just trying to catch his breath.

About ten minutes later there was a rattling at his door, like someone was fumbling to put the key in the keyhole.

Puzzled, Franco went to the door. He couldn’t think of anyone who’d come by so late. His family would’ve called first and Isco – well, Isco was probably asleep. He’d sent Franco a random blue heart and then gone offline.

Then the door opened to – to a very flustered-looking Isco, who was carrying a small duffel and who charged right into the house and took a look at the digital clock on the TV console. It read 11.57pm.

“Oh, thank God,” Isco breathed. He ran up to Franco again and leapt up on him like a baby bear. “Happy birthday, Franco Vazquez.”

“Uh, hey,” was all Franco managed to say. He wrapped his arms tightly around Isco. “Hi.”

“I love you. I made it and I love you.”

“Yeah, you made it,” Franco smiled. Frankly, his birthday had been less than exciting without Isco around. “You made it.”

“I get to spend three minutes of your birthday with you.”

“That’s better than zero minutes.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah. Okay. Why are we still talking? Let’s make out for three minutes.”

So they did. They made out for three minutes – or more – hungrily and happily and sloppily. Franco’s exhaustion melted away.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Franco said. The clock read 12.02.

“I really wanted to be with you on your birthday.”

“It’s fine,” Franco kissed him on the head. “You know it’s fine.”

“I know, but,” Isco shrugged, then dove in for a hug. “I just wanna be with you.”

“Me, too,” Franco smiled.

“I, uh,” Isco pulled away and reached for his bag. He pulled out a box of heart-shaped chocolates. “I got you chocolates.”

Franco laughed. Isco didn’t like chocolates but Franco was glad he remembered Franco did. “Are these leftover from Valentine’s Day?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Isco said. He threw his arms in the air. “It’s not my fault your birthday is a week after Valentine’s Day!”

Franco wrapped him up in another big hug. “You’re my favourite.”

“They’re low-fat and not expired,” Isco added.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I took the last flight here. It only runs on Wednesdays.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. He led Isco to the couch and sat him down. “How was your day?”

“It was shit. We lost and I didn’t play.”

Franco pulled him into his lap, between his legs. “I didn’t play either,” he said. “But we won.”

“At least you have that,” Isco said softly.

Then he went quiet and just sat there letting Franco hug him. He leaned back and sunk into Franco’s chest, and it was the warmest feeling ever and Franco never wanted to let him go.

“Tired?” Franco whispered, just so it wouldn’t be too silent for Isco’s liking.

“Just a little,” Isco shrugged. He played with the hem of his black t-shirt. “It was just a shitty day and I just wasted all of it, wasted all my time preparing just to end up sitting on the bench when I could have been here with you. Like, I spent three fucking minutes of your entire birthday with you. What kind of shitty boyfriend am I?”

“Don’t say that,” Franco said. He leaned his cheek on Isco’s. “Hey. I love you. I love you and I’m so happy that you came. It doesn’t matter when or how long.”

Isco went quiet again, just hung his head and continued fiddling with his t-shirt. He was probably just. Just feeling crabby as fuck from the loss and everything else. Even though it wasn’t his fault. He always did that. Franco didn’t know how to stop him from blaming himself.

“Did I tell you I bought Junior a little toilet?” Franco asked when Isco remained quiet.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled and Franco was so fucking relieved. “A little potty?”

Franco laughed. It was cute when Isco said potty. “Mmhmm. A little potty.”

“You remember that he’s potty training?”

“Of course,” Franco pressed on Isco’s hair so it was smooth back on his head. He let go and it got all fluffy again. “I read that…uh, that it’s not good if he keeps switching back to diapers? And, like, you know, since he’s always coming here and everything, I thought…yeah. Maybe he doesn’t need to wear diapers all the time when he’s here.”

Isco smiled. “Thank you so much.”

“’Course.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Silence again.

Franco reached for his phone and opened the clock app. The second line read _‘_ _Córdoba, yesterday, -4 hours, 8.23pm.’_

“I was born in Córdoba, yeah?” Franco said softly. “That means it’s still my birthday.”

Isco stared at the phone screen for a while. Then he switched to staring at Franco. “Yeah?” he said after a while. “I didn’t miss your birthday?”

Franco shook his head. “Still got four hours.”

A big smile almost split Isco’s face into two. He turned around in Franco’s arms and draped himself over Franco’s shoulder. “I didn’t miss your birthday,” he said happily.

“Nope,” Franco chuckled. “Now give me a big kiss.”

So Isco gave him a big kiss. And many other small kisses. And more all over his face. He was like a little puppy. And Franco was – honestly, Franco was just happy to see Isco happy. It was the best birthday gift that Isco could have ever given him.

“So,” Isco said after he was finished smooching Franco all over. “You wanna fuck, or something?”

Franco burst into laughter. “You wanna fuck?”

“I don’t know, do you?”

“I kinda wanna just lie around with you.”

“Franco Vazquez doesn’t wanna fuck. Amazing.”

“Shut up. You make me sound like some sex maniac.”

“Aren’t you?’

Franco poked him in the sides, sparking a brief tickle fight. Which Isco lost, because he fell off the edge of the couch and landed on the floor on his butt. And stayed there. He grabbed Franco’s legs and put them over his shoulders, holding on to Franco’s calves. He was. He was so fucking weird. He just reached for the remote and turned the TV on and just sat there holding Franco’s legs like they were the straps of a backpack.

Then he leaned his cheek on Franco’s knee and promptly fell asleep. Like father, like son.

“What the fuck,” Franco whispered when Isco started snoring a little. He hooked his arms under Isco’s and lifted him onto the couch so he could sleep on Franco’s chest. Franco could imagine how tired Isco was, training and rushing around the whole day and arriving in Seville near midnight. All just for Franco. Franco gave his temple a kiss.

Then he took a selfie with Isco sleeping, because he looked adorable and Franco couldn’t resist. He posted it to his Instagram story with the caption, _Best birthday_ , followed by a red heart.

He closed his eyes and felt himself melt together with Isco, like their bodies were fusing together. He wrapped Isco up more tightly and heard Isco mumble something he couldn’t make out. Franco just. He felt so safe. Isco made him feel so safe, which was ironic because Isco was the most reckless person Franco had ever met.

And to imagine that just seven months ago, their relationship was purely sexual. No emotions.

Right then, Franco was filled with emotions. He was filled _to the brim_. He didn’t think he’d ever felt all these emotions before. It was like he was in this entirely new world. And now that he knew how they all felt like, he couldn’t imagine ever not feeling them. He couldn’t imagine – he couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like if he and Isco had never become a couple.

He thought of that fork in the universe, the other fork where Franco hadn’t googled ‘aromantic’ and hence had never found out he was demiromantic. He thought of how it would’ve meant that he would have never gone to Isco’s hotel room, he would never have told Isco he wanted a relationship, and he would never have had the chance to fall more and more in love with Isco every single day. He would never have realised how fucking _in love_ with Isco he was and would always be.

He hated that that universe existed. Even if he wasn’t in it. He hated it.

But he knew if that universe didn’t exist, then this one wouldn’t, too. So maybe it was a trade-off. Franco could accept that.

God, Isco made him so fucking happy. Even when he was sleeping. Even when he was _doing nothing_. He looked so peaceful and so quiet compared to his normal chaotic self. He lit up the room. He lit up Franco’s entire fucking life. He brought Franco into this other world Franco had never experienced before – a carefree, worry-free world. A world where everything was taken step by step and not planned way ahead. Sure, Isco respected when Franco needed to know how things worked, what they meant, and when they were going to happen. Isco had never tried to take away that aspect of Franco. But at the same time he encouraged Franco to be more open-minded. He made Franco feel so – so _confident_ that it was going to be okay if he didn’t have it all planned out, as long as Isco was there by his side to accompany him. He taught Franco that it was okay to make mistakes. That it was okay to not be so uptight all the time.

Franco sighed. He ran his thumb gently over Isco’s eyelids. His eyelashes were so fucking long they were like spiders on Isco’s cheeks. And his eyebrows were so bushy. And his hairline was so wonky. Franco loved everything about all of that. He traced his thumb down Isco’s temple and his cheek. He drummed his fingers softly down Isco’s jaw. Isco was like a piece of art.

His beard was also a little coarse, but Franco was like whatever. He’d give Isco a new bottle of conditioner later.

Franco closed his eyes. He smoothened Isco’s hair and tucked Isco’s head under his chin so his hair wouldn’t pop back up. Everything was calm and quiet and Franco felt so relaxed. They hadn’t even showered and were both in their dirty outside clothes but – but Franco didn’t even care.

He was very rudely awoken right when was about to fall asleep – by a very agitated Isco, who was awake with his eyes wide open like an owl and frantically slapping Franco on the chest.

“Ow, stop it,” Franco groaned. “What?”

“We’re not going to sleep the last few hours of your birthday away,” Isco said.

“You fell asleep first,” Franco pointed out.

Isco ignored him. He got up and started walking towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna eat some popcorn,” he said.

Franco switched armrests so he could watch Isco flit around like a butterfly. He was so fucking hyperactive. Franco didn’t _understand._

He finally settled with one bag of popcorn and – and some lettuce and eggs, which he claimed he was going to make salad with. Popcorn and salad was a weird as fuck combination, but Franco accepted it. Isco skipped over to Franco before he started making anything, though, and tugged at Franco’s arm until he managed to get Franco off the couch. What a strong little bugger.

“Let’s go shower first,” he said. “So we can be clean and cuddly.”

So Franco got up obediently, thinking that he’d just do whatever Isco wanted him to do because as long as Isco was happy, it would be the best birthday gift in the world. And if Isco wanted to fucking drag him out on the street on this cold Wednesday night then Franco would let him, too.

Fortunately, he didn’t. All he wanted was to scrub Franco clean with his tiny hands. Franco let him do just that, and in return he let Franco apply some conditioner on his beard. Then he made Franco sit down on the bed while he climbed behind and latched on to Franco like a backpack to help Franco towel his hair dry. And knead the knots out of his shoulders.

“I love you,” he whispered when he was done, resting his chin on Franco’s shoulder. “Happy birthday.”

Franco smiled. He leaned back, pushing Isco backwards into a reclined position. He rested his cheek on Isco’s abdomen. “I love you, too,” he cooed.

Isco laughed. He wrapped his legs more tightly around Franco and his arms around Franco’s head, like they were in some wrestling match. He gently stroked Franco’s hair and face for a while, so softly and soothingly that Franco almost fell asleep.

Then Isco’s stomach growled, waking Franco from his slumber. He grinned sheepishly at Franco when Franco turned to look at him.

He burrowed his way out from under Franco and went to the kitchen to make his food. Franco followed him and hovered around picking up all the food he was dropping. There was a reason Franco preferred to take over the cooking.

Franco had settled at the kitchen table by the time Isco was done. He watched as Isco brought over two salads and a small bowl of popcorn. And a bowl of watermelon cubes. And two glasses of apple juice. And also the chocolates he’d brought. There was an unsliced hard-boiled egg sitting on the top of Franco’s salad. Isco dug in the cabinets until he found a candle, which he lit and stuck in the egg.

Then Isco made him smile for a photo even though the candle was dripping all over the egg, and then he propped the phone on the kitchen counter for a selfie and the candle was practically non-existent by then so Isco got another one. They nailed the self-timed photo in one try.

Then Isco started fucking _singing_ the birthday song to Franco, first in Spanish and then in _Italian_ , which Franco honestly had no idea how he knew. But he did great and Franco sat there smiling at him, his heart warm. He felt like. Like everything was in slow motion. He heard and he felt every syllable of Isco’s voice. And he didn’t want this to ever end.

“Make a wish,” Isco said after he was done singing in his broken Italian.

So Franco did. He wished for the only thing that was on his mind right then – he wished he could be with Isco forever.

Franco blew the candle out and wanted to clean the candle wax off the egg, but Isco took it from him and washed it off with warm water. He sliced it and put it back in Franco’s salad with a big proud smile.

They had a quiet supper that was interrupted only by Isco’s loud crunching on the lettuce. And munching on the popcorn. And slurping his juice. And just him making weird noises in general. For some reason, they made Franco feel comfortable. At least then he knew that Isco was around, even if he wasn’t talking.

The clock had struck three am when they finished cleaning up and settled down in bed after brushing their teeth. Isco, for some reason, found Franco’s lap more comfortable than the pillow and was laying in it playing with his phone. Franco just watched him. Didn’t reach for his phone, just watched Isco do his thing and fell impossibly more in love with him.

“Why didn’t you have a party this year?” Isco asked after a silent lull. “Wait, did you have a secret party and not invite me?”

“I thought you were gonna have a surprise party for me,” Franco said, deadpan.

“What?” Isco asked, suddenly agitated. “I didn’t know you wanted – I thought – you never said you wanted –“

“I’m joking. Loser.”

“So you didn’t want a party?”

Franco shook his head. “I’m too old for parties. I just wanna spend time with people I don’t feel tired around.”

Isco sighed in relief. “You scared me. Asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

Isco huffed. “I’ll let you know if I want a party.”

“Sure,” Franco laughed. He had a feeling Isco did want a party. Franco started planning mentally.

“You really didn’t want a party?”

“Yeah. I haven’t had a party in years.”

“How many years?”

“The last one was, uh,” Franco shrugged. “You know, that one where…where I had that threesome.”

Isco burst into laughter. “Wasn’t that like ten years ago?”

“It wasn’t _ten years ago_. I’m not that old. It was like, two years ago.”

“So you haven’t had a party for _one year_ ,” Isco rolled his eyes. “Two years including this one. _Big deal_.”

Franco slapped him on his huge forehead and he shut up like Franco had hit a button. He continued playing with his phone as Franco traced his fingers along Isco’s hairline again. It was way too asymmetrical. Even the word ‘asymmetrical’ couldn’t describe it. It was like. Like Junior had drawn a wonky line on Isco’s head and Isco’s hair had decided to grow along it.

Maybe if Franco tried to reshape it, it’d look better. Franco took a strand of hair and yanked at it until it was out of its follicle.

“Ow, what the fuck!” Isco said. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping you style your hair.”

“That’s not how you style hair.”

“Your hairline’s weird.”

“It’s all the hair pulling you do during sex.”

“I don’t pull your hair.”

“You do.”

“Well, I didn’t cause this. It was like this when I met you.”

“You made it worse.”

“I did not.”

Isco reached up and poked him on the nose. He checked the time on his phone before putting it aside and turning chest-down, his face resting in Franco’s thighs. It didn’t look comfortable. Franco was sure it wasn’t comfortable. But Isco looked comfortable, so.

“Good night,” he said softly. “Happy birthday, Franny. I love you so much. I’d kiss you but I’m too tired.”

Then he fell asleep again, like a child. Franco laughed and gave his head a few pats. “I love you too, Franny,” he said. There was no response.

Franco took his phone and saw that the time was 4.03am. Isco had – he’d literally stayed up for every last minute of Franco’s Argentine birthday and Franco just. God, Franco fucking loved him.

There were also two notifications from Instagram. The first was Isco tagging him in his story, the photograph of him beaming over the table of food. Isco had put a crown emoji on his head and captioned it to the side of Franco’s face, _Happy birthday you old tart. I love you._ It was accompanied by the 2 and 8 emojis.

The second notification was one informing Franco that Isco had tagged him in a photo. Franco opened it.

It was that – very well taken, if Franco had to admit – self-timed photo of them both, Isco sitting on Franco’s lap, his legs between Franco’s, the both of them looking equally tired but equally happy. Though who could blame them, for it had been past two in the morning when that photo was taken. Isco had his arm around Franco’s neck and was squeezing it against him; Franco looked as delighted as he could possibly be with his head all squashed under Isco’s armpit. He had his arms around Isco’s waist. The candle was a little bright blob in front of them, lighting up the table of weird food. It made Franco smile. He scrolled down to the caption.

_To the one who lets me talk endlessly when I feel like it and fills the silences when I don’t; the one who tries to understand my every thought and doesn’t get mad because we’re opposites; the one whose shoulder I can always cry on and with whom I can always share my laughter; the one who never tries to change me no matter how eccentric I’m behaving; the one who accepts me as I am and loves my son like he is his own; the one who is so different from me that we are perfectly complementary. To the one who could tell I was upset that I’d arrived in Seville in time to spend only three minutes of his birthday with him, and told me we could celebrate it in Argentine time instead. I love you. I love you in this universe and in every other universe that exists. You are the most amazing creation. You are my favourite galaxy. Happy birthday. I can’t wait to grow old with you._

Franco almost started tearing up when he was done reading it. Actually, fuck that. He _was_ tearing up.

He commented on the photo a line of all the coloured hearts followed by a shooting star, a rose, a kissy emoji, and a potato because there was no bean. On second thought, he added a trophy. Because Isco was the best boyfriend in the world. He knew how to love Franco, he knew how Franco needed to be loved after so long of not being open to loving. He knew that being himself and letting Franco be himself was the only way their relationship could stay true.

Franco always wondered how it could be that he could feel such overwhelming affection for Isco and want to fuck him hard into the wall at the exact same time. How he could want to make Isco smile and blush and laugh but also want to make Isco cry for more. At the same moment.

Franco put his phone aside and gently lifted Isco off his lap, shimmying so he was lying down, and putting Isco on his chest instead. Isco burrowed into it almost immediately, nuzzling his face into it and smiling.

Franco buried his nose in Isco’s hair and fell asleep to the world’s most satisfying scent flooding his nostrils.

\------

The match that happened on the weekend right after Franco’s birthday took Sevilla further towards the outskirts of Seville to face Betis in a derby.

Franco was in the starting eleven. He started the game all excited to be part of the action again.

The first time Franco touched the ball, deafening boos filled the entire Betis stadium.

Franco froze for a second and had the ball snatched from his feet. He glanced around at his teammates, who gestured at him to try and carry on. They looked as bewildered as Franco felt. It wasn’t the first game Franco had played since coming out. But it was the first time he’d gotten such a strong reaction.

It was probably just because it was a derby. Franco tried to convince himself it was only because it was a derby and they were playing in Betis’ stadium. He tried to get his head back in the game and willed his legs to move again, to bring him back to position.

The next time Franco touched the ball, the same thing happened.

Franco managed to quickly pass the ball away to his teammate. The booing stopped. It returned, this time for an extended period, when Franco did a dribble.

Franco didn’t want this to affect him. He didn’t want this to mean that he rushed each pass or that his teammates would try not to pass to him. He just. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to drown out the voices with his own thoughts. He had always been good at doing that, at compartmentalising, at focusing on what he wanted and doing all he could to get it. But this time it was too loud. It resonated within Franco’s bones. It echoed in Franco’s brain. And Franco wanted to – he wanted to dig under his skin with his nails to get it out. He wanted to punch a hole in his own skull and crush the words with his very own hands. He would do _anything_ just to make it stop. He just wanted it to stop.

But it didn’t. Instead, the Betis fans began chanting ‘homo Vazquez’ for the next twenty minutes. And they pulled out a gigantic fucking banner that read ‘Mudo Vazquez’ with the ‘Mudo’ cancelled out and replaced with ‘homo.’ Franco thought if he stared too much at it, he would spontaneously combust.

When the whistle was blown for a Betis free kick, Franco lumbered back to defend. He saw his captain Vicente glancing anxiously at him for a few seconds before running up to him and grabbing his head tightly in both his hands.

“You gotta drain them out,” he said. “Franco. You have to drain them out. Get them out of your head.”

Franco nodded. He didn’t say anything. There was a lump in his throat and Franco couldn’t yet figure out if it meant he wanted to puke or he wanted to cry, or both.

The free kick bonked off the bar and went behind. Franco heaved a sigh of relief and ran back to his attacking position. The chanting didn’t stop, just homo Vazquez, homo Vazquez, ringing out through the entire stadium. Franco felt so small. He felt fucking tiny. And he was so fucking exhausted, he thought his legs were going to give way under him.

The next free kick, Sevilla weren’t so lucky. It went straight into the back of the net.

And Franco was the one who’d jumped to the side and opened a hole in the wall for the ball to go through. Franco was the one the ball scraped and deflected off, leaving Sergio unable to reach it. It was his fault. _It was Franco’s fault_.

“Fuck!” Franco shouted at no one in particular. The booing and chanting had turned into cheers, but not for the right reason.

Vicente grabbed him again, with a handful of the back of Franco’s shirt to yank him backwards. “C’mon, Franco!” he yelled.

“It’s not so fucking easy!” Franco screamed at him. He regretted it immediately. Vicente, though, didn’t seem to mind at all. He just gave Franco’s shoulders a few shakes and went on with his business.

After the goal the cheering faded and the homophobic chanting continued, accompanied by booing. Franco took a look at the clock. Eight minutes to half time.

Those eight minutes passed like eight hours. Franco was. Franco literally had zero energy. He thought maybe he could just lie down at the side and go to sleep forever. He felt something dripping down his face but he wasn’t sure if it was sweat or tears.

When the half time whistle was blown, Franco was hit by a sudden blast of relief. It was short-lived because – because Franco suddenly thought, _fuck, is Isco watching this?_

That very thought made him break down in tears almost immediately. He didn’t want Isco to watch this. He didn’t want Isco to think they were being targeted, that _Franco_ was being targeted. He didn’t want to ruin this for Isco. Franco hung his head and jogged back towards the tunnel, affording the briefest glances at the Betis players around him. They looked concerned. They looked helpless. Franco didn’t blame them. It wasn’t their fault.

Once Franco got near the bench, Joaquin and Matias ran up to him. They wrapped him up tightly, Joaquin pushing Franco’s face into his chest, shielding him from the angry fans above them who were yelling ugly things. _Scum of the earth. Dirty faggot. Isco likes you but the rest of Spain doesn’t._

Franco only really discovered that he _had_ been crying once they were in the away locker room, gathered for the half time pep talk. He had tears fucking streaming down his cheeks and he was shuddering like he was cold except he _wasn’t_ , he was _burning_ inside like someone had set him on fire.

The briefing was only incoherent murmurs to Franco. He sat in front of his assigned locker and tried to listen but Sampaoli’s voice only sounded like it was coming from a boom box in the next apartment. Franco couldn’t hear. And even if he did, he wouldn’t understand.

Joaquin shifted over and sat by his side the entire time, cradling his head like it was a baby. He softly shushed Franco, probably when Franco’s sobbing got too loud. Matias tried feeding him some water but he failed. And Franco – Franco was embarrassed, but a big part of him no longer cared. He could cry like a baby for the rest of the day and he wouldn’t care. Nothing meant anything anymore.

Vicente came over to them as everyone else left to warm up or stretch in the tunnel. He gently pushed Joaquin aside and held Franco by the shoulders. Franco leaned into his grasp. He couldn’t sit straight without any support.

“You can’t play anymore, yeah?” Vicente asked softly. “Boss is taking you out. You’ll be better not playing. Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Franco whispered.

“It’s not your fault,” Vicente said. “We don’t blame you. We support you. You know that, right?”

Franco nodded. Well, it was more of a hanging of his head than nodding, but.

Vicente left to speak to Sampaoli and Sampaoli came over for a brief hug and a pat on Franco’s shoulder. They told Franco that he was supposed to sit on the bench for the second half, but if anything happened, he’d be excused to sit inside. Franco agreed. He thought he agreed. Maybe. He wasn’t sure.

Anyway, the first step he took back on the grass was punctuated by more booing. Shocked, Franco immediately stepped backwards and bumped into Sampaoli.

“You can stay inside,” he said gently. “I didn’t sub you out because you’re strong and I know it. I knew you could play through it. But I understand that it’s very difficult. It’s very disappointing that they’re reacting this way. But I hope you won’t take it to heart. Football is more than this. It means more than this to you, we both know it. Go inside and have a rest.”

Franco nodded, for real this time. Sampaoli gave Franco another hug. Franco thanked him and headed back to the locker room alone.

He sat at his locker quietly for a while, waiting for the shuddering in his shoulders to go away. It didn’t.

The stadium erupted into cheers above him when the second half kicked off. There was no more booing, no more hateful chanting, no more jeers. Just cheering.

Franco shut his eyes. It was all him.

Spain hated him. Okay, or maybe not Spain. But a big part of Seville did. And Seville was his home for the next few years at least. Maybe Madrid didn’t hate him – after all, Madrid had had time to get used to Alvaro and afterwards Isco – but Seville did. And Seville was where Franco was spending most of his time. Seville was the one who was going to ask Franco questions when he walked down the street. The one to stare at Franco. The one who watched Franco’s every move. Seville was the home Franco was never going to be welcome in.

He fished for his phone in his bag and saw a text from Isco. His heart fell to his knees for a moment, dreading what it would read.

_Training dragged out. I’m missing the first half._

Franco was so relieved he burst into tears again.

 _I love you,_ the next message from Isco read. _You’ll do great_.

Franco considered replying, but eventually did not because he didn’t want Isco to be suspicious about Franco getting access to his phone in the middle of the match. Instead, he opened the album in which he’d put all the photos he had of Isco and Junior. It was titled ‘beans.’ Isco didn’t know this photo album existed. Franco was sure he’d be teased to no end. He took his boots off and curled up in his locker with his phone.

Calmness descended on him as he scrolled through the photos. It was just. Just Isco smiling. Junior smiling. Isco _and_ Junior smiling. And doing lots of nonsense together. The pictures from last week’s Real Madrid-Espanyol clash, where Isco had brought Junior on the pitch to play and cuddle after the match, were also inside. It made Franco cry again, but this time with relief. Even if the world was ending, Franco would always have the two loves of his life.

He scrolled back all the way to the pictures they took together in Vegas, a series of red and brown and Isco’s huge stupid face. Then before that, the tens of photos that Franco had taken when he’d babysat Junior for the first time.

Franco’s life had taken a hundred and eighty degree turn since then. He missed the old times. He missed when everything was just…quiet. He missed the time when he didn’t _feel_ anything.

But as painful as loving Isco was – it was also the most magical feeling in the world. Franco loved it as much as it hurt him. Sure, feelings were lame as fuck. But they were the sort of lame that crushed Franco’s soul and put it back together again. So maybe Franco was a train wreck, but he also _wasn’t_. He couldn’t even remember what it was like not loving Isco. Not having all these lame feelings.

Franco couldn’t understand where they went wrong. What had made all these people turn against them this way. They’d taken things step by step, they’d done things slowly. They’d gone slow as fuck. Franco didn’t understand what he had ever done wrong. Loving Isco wasn’t wrong but yet he was being made to feel guilty about it. Franco was still in control of what went out there but he was no longer in control of how people would take it. He could no longer predict a reaction. He had control but at the same time – he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t giving people empty guns. He was actually giving them bullets.

And Franco didn’t fucking _know_ how to handle this. He needed Isco. He needed Isco to help him but Franco dreaded telling Isco about this because he didn’t want Isco to feel the same way Franco did.

There was a distant cheering, more softly than the episode after Betis’ goal. The announcement came a couple seconds later: Sevilla had scored.

Franco leaned his head against the inside of his locker. The stadium sound had become much more bearable. He closed his eyes for a few minutes and soaked it in.

Then he got to his feet, slid his socked feet in some slippers, and wandered until he found a room with a TV. There were some staff sitting inside, Betis to one side and Sevilla to the other. Franco joined the Sevilla side.

Sevilla scored again twenty minutes later and eventually won the match 2-1. The stadium was silenced.

Franco headed back to the locker room and ran into his teammates in the hallway. They looked _ecstatic_ and Franco couldn’t help but smile. Joaquin was the first to see him.

“Mudo, mudo, mudo!” he exclaimed, clattering up to Franco noisily and wrapping Franco up in a big hug. “We won!”

“Mmhmm,” Franco said.

“They’re the losers now,” Joaquin said, and then yelled really loudly so everyone could hear him, “Guys, c’mon, group hug with Franco!”

And then everyone pounced on Franco, cheering loudly, and Franco was covered in like fifteen different musky scents of sweat and his lungs were crushed but he found himself laughing.

Everyone took turns to chatter wildly to him on the way to the showers and on the bus home. Franco wasn’t sure when they’d even had time to plan this, but he was sure they’d arranged it so that Franco was entertained at all times and didn’t get any headspace to worry. He appreciated it a lot.

Matias drove him home and Joaquin decided that he’d tag along. Franco sat in the backseat listening to them talk about something random and then start jamming to some random song on the radio. _Young people_.

“You gonna be okay?” Matias asked as Franco got out at his building.

Franco nodded.

“Call us if you need anything,” Joaquin said.

Franco nodded. “Hey, uh,” he said before closing the door. “Could you…Isco didn’t watch. So uh…maybe, could you not tell him?”

“Are you going to tell him yourself?” Matias asked.

“I’ll…I’ll deal with it. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Love you!” Joaquin yelled out the window as Matias drove away.

Franco went inside and sat down on his couch. He wanted. He wanted to talk to Isco. He didn’t want anything else more than to talk to Isco.

 _Home safe?_ Isco had texted him, followed by a heart.

Franco smiled. He tapped on the little phone icon.

Isco took the call after the first ring. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi,” Franco whispered.

“Sorry I couldn’t watch.”

“It’s okay.”

“They’re replaying it on TV tonight. I’ll watch that.”

“No,” Franco snapped unintentionally. “I mean…don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just…just don’t.”

“Just the first half. Just the part you played.”

“Don’t watch it, Alarcon.”

“Will you tell me why?”

Franco sighed. His heart was fucking racing. “I don’t want you to watch it. I played like crap and…and I just don’t want you to watch it. Okay?”

Isco paused for a really long while, then finally said, “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Another pause from Isco, then, “I just want you to know that I’m proud of you no matter what.”

“I love you,” Franco whispered. He didn’t manage to finish saying it before he started crying. He slapped a hand over his mouth so Isco wouldn’t hear.

“I love you, too,” Isco said. “You had dinner?”

Franco shook his head before realising that Isco couldn’t see him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “No, yeah, I’ll cook some.”

“What are you cooking?” Isco asked. There were some rustling sounds and some static sounds, then Isco mumbling in the background. Then he said into the phone, “Hey, Junior wants to say hi.”

“Hi Vazquez!” Junior screamed.

“Hi, baby,” Franco smiled.

“And Bubu.”

There was a soft woof.

Franco laughed. He closed his eyes and some tears escaped from the corners. “Hey.”

“You okay?” Isco asked.

“Mmhmm,” Franco mumbled. He pulled the phone away as he sniffled, and then put it back against his ear. “I’m – I’ll cook some rice.”

“Yeah? Sounds good.”

“Mmhmm,” Franco said again. He felt like he couldn’t say anything more than that or Isco would be able to tell he was crying.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Franco nodded before realising again that Isco couldn’t see him. “I’m okay,” he whispered.

“Are you going to cook now? I won’t bother you.”

“In a while,” Franco murmured. “Are you…busy? Could you, uh, stay with me for a while?”

“Sure, yeah, I’m just feeding Junior. He’s almost done. Aren’t you, baby?”

Junior gave a yell and then a giggle. It made Franco smile.

“What do you wanna talk about?” Isco asked.

“Nothing,” Franco said softly. He sprawled out on the end of the couch with the extended leg rest. “I just want to know you’re here.”

“’Course I am,” Isco said. “Always.”

Franco curled up on himself and listened to everything that was going on with Isco and Junior and Bubu. He listened to all the scuffling and rustling and the clattering of the plastic plate as it fell and Isco told Junior very kindly to stop flailing his arms around. He listened to Bubu sniff the phone and breathe really loud into it and he heard Bubu’s paws slapping on it as Isco removed him. Isco was. Isco was so patient. His house, due more to his laid-back character and less to the baby and the animal, was like a mix between a zoo without enclosures and a really noisy child care centre.

And Franco wished he could be there.

He wished he was there and that he could tell Isco everything that had happened, and he could cry and Isco would hold him until he stopped, Isco would tell him over and over again that it was going to be okay because he loved Franco, and he’d wrap Franco up tight and Franco would feel so safe.

Franco had always been good at keeping secrets. His own secrets. He kept secrets to protect himself.

But this time he was keeping a secret _to protect Isco_. He was keeping a secret to protect someone else, not himself. He was keeping a secret so Isco would be safe. He didn’t know how long he could do it, but he knew he was going to.

Because to Franco, this was worth much more.

\------

Franco watched Isco’s match against Villareal the next day, for which Isco played the last half an hour. And Isco was – he was fucking amazing. Even in the short time he’d played. He was everywhere at once, terrorising the Villareal players, and even though he neither scored nor assisted – Alvaro scored the winning goal – Franco was super fucking proud of his dumb bean for being so fucking amazing.

But that winning goal reminded him of something – specifically, Alvaro’s blabbermouth.

Franco opened his private text window with Paulo. They hadn’t spoken in private for like, four months.

 _Hey,_ he typed, hesitating before hitting send. _Does Alvaro watch other La Liga matches?_

Paulo replied a few minutes later. _Sometimes he watches reruns. Why?_

_Do you know if he watched the rerun of Betis vs Sevilla?_

_I don’t think so,_ Paulo said. _Do you want me to ask him?_

 _No,_ Franco said, and then decided that it’d be easier to explain over the phone so he called Paulo and told him the entire story.

“Ummmmmm,” Paulo said after Franco was done, dragging out the sound. “So…you’re wondering if Alvaro saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“I think he’d have said something if he did.”

“I thought that too,” Franco said. “Paulo. I…uh, I don’t want Isco to know about this.”

“Oh,” Paulo said quietly. He paused for a really long time. “Uh, I think if Alvaro saw it, he’d have said something by now. I mean…you know him.”

“Can you…like, maybe make sure he doesn’t see it?”

“Okay,” Paulo said slowly. “I can’t guarantee that, though. I mean, I’m in Turin and he’s in Madrid.”

“Yeah,” Franco sighed. “Yeah. It’s okay. Never mind.”

“I’ll try,” Paulo offered.

“But you can’t tell him it happened,” Franco said. “Once you tell him, he’ll tell Isco. I mean, because…you know. He’s…very talkative.”

“He can’t keep a secret,” Paulo said. “I know.”

Franco hung up the phone after Paulo promised that he’d try to snuff things out with Alvaro.

Isco called him after that and Franco got distracted for a while, listening to Isco blabbering away and smiling to himself because he was just so _happy_ to hear Isco’s voice.

\------

Neither Franco nor Isco got to travel to meet each other when March started due to their packed schedules. Franco sat at home and watched Real Madrid’s next match against Las Palmas, a bowl of microwaved popcorn in his lap just because it reminded him of Isco.

Isco scored a goal in the eighth minute and played for more than an hour before being substituted out. It was a midweek match, so Paulo was up watching it too. He texted Franco halfway through, a series of screenshots of his texts with Alvaro. _Sorry, this happened a couple days ago but I forgot to show you._

 _Have you been watching any match reruns lately?_ Paulo had asked.

_No, why?_

_Nothing, just realised you haven’t bugged me about watching them in a long time._

_Do you wanna?_

_No._

_Fine. I’ll watch by myself._

_What match are you planning to watch?_

_I dunno. Lemme see. Probably not Sevilla because I don’t wanna watch Franco anyway._

Franco rolled his eyes. He wanted to slap Alvaro but at the same time he felt immensely relieved.

_Ok, good, then?_

_Maybe I’ll just watch Juve. Against Palermo. When you scored twice._

_You’ve watched that twice._

_Three times sounds nicer._

Then the screenshots ended. _Thanks,_ Franco sent Paulo.

_You’re welcome._

Franco put his phone aside and waited for the match to end. Fifteen minutes after it did, he got a call from Isco.

Franco sat and listened, smiling again. He was really getting used to this routine.

\------

The next day, Sevilla hosted Athletic Bilbao, their first match since – since the whole Betis incident.

Franco wasn’t in the starting lineup but he was substituted in for Joaquin just past the hour – to rapturous cheers from the home fans.

Sure, it was hesitant at first, but then the cheers roared throughout the entire stadium, more loudly than the Betis fans the other day. It was almost like the Bilbao fans had joined in as well. Everyone was clapping and yelling and Franco’s teammates looked so surprised but so fucking _overjoyed_. Joaquin had given him a gigantic hug as they met at the sidelines. Matias was standing tiny but at the same time all big and mighty where he was and just yelling at the top of his lungs and smiling at Franco, his arms raised in the air in a big ‘V,’ his fists clenched in victory.

Franco’s heart felt so warm. He felt so happy and so welcome and he put his hands on his heart and gave a little bow as he ran to his position, and then turned behind and did the same to the fans behind him.

Sevilla won the match by a solitary goal. Franco was ambushed by his teammates again on the way to the locker room, and then all the way to the shower and back.

Isco had texted him a big red heart, accompanied by, _The cheering was so great._

 _I know,_ Franco replied.

_Why did they do that?_

Franco’s thumbs hovered over the keypad for a while. Then he typed, _They like me, duh._

Isco sent a middle finger emoji. Franco laughed. He thought maybe, after all this shit, everything was going to be okay.

That joy was as short-lived as the time it took for Franco to get to the underground carpark and find his car.

There were eggs smashed all over it. Just. Just eggs running over every surface of Franco’s car. And scratches on all four doors and the front windshield.

And as if that hadn’t been enough, there were also like, seven dildos thrown on it, one of which was suctioned to the front hood and another to the front passenger door.

Franco stopped in his tracks. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, a few feet away from the nearest trail of egg yolk, but he was the first of his teammates to get there because he wanted to get home quickly so it took a while for the rest to stream in. Franco stepped backwards and away from the car when he heard their voices echo off the concrete wall. He walked straight into Joaquin so hard he practically knocked all the air out of the youngster.

“Hold up, hold up, where you goin’?” he asked, before Matias grabbed his arm and tilted his head in the direction of Franco’s car. Discreetly, to his credit, but Franco still saw it.

Joaquin shut up after taking a look at what Matias was gesturing to. The three of them stood there for a while as the others stopped around them, the carpark suddenly eerily silent.

Then Joaquin said, way more loudly than was required, “Why not we take you out for supper? We’ll go get something to eat. I’m hungry after winning.”

He and Matias practically dragged Franco away as the rest stayed. Probably to call security or the police or whatever. Franco wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be around for that – but fuck it. He didn’t want to be.

Franco kept his head down and tried his hardest not to cry as Joaquin and Matias led him to God-knew-where. Franco couldn’t have good things. He could never have a good thing ever in his life.

The two of them kept trying to talk to Franco but they kept failing. They asked him what he wanted to eat and honestly, Franco just wanted to sleep. He didn’t want to eat anything. He wasn’t hungry; in fact he felt like maybe he was going to puke. And they were making it worse, fucking jabbering non-stop in Franco’s ears.

“I don’t want to fucking do anything, okay, just fuck off!” Franco finally exploded. While they were walking on an empty street, fortunately.

The both of them just. Just shut up suddenly. And looked at the ground like it was the most interesting thing they’d ever seen.

Franco stopped walking and sat down on the curb. It was already half past midnight. He was tired.

He checked his phone and saw a string of messages from Isco.

_You home yet?_

_You got home safe?_

_Franco._

_It’s late. Reply me._

_Are you home safe?_

_I love you._

Franco gripped the phone tightly so he wouldn’t throw it across the street and have it shatter into pieces again. He didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve such a supportive boyfriend. He would do anything in the world to make sure Isco was safe and happy and living his life to the fullest. This would go away. Franco knew this would go away just like everything else. He just had to ride it out.

Besides, he didn’t even know what he was going to tell Isco. _Hey, baby, I got booed by an entire stadium and my car got trashed with a bunch of dildos_. Isco was a busy person. He had a child and he had his own matches, and he had a Champions League match coming up soon, for fuck’s sake. Isco was on the rise. He was getting more minutes and getting more involved in Madrid’s business and Franco didn’t want him to be distracted. He didn’t deserve this at all. They were targeting Franco, and that was it. That was how it was going to remain.

Franco unlocked his phone and typed a reply to Isco. _Yeah. I love you too._

Matias and Joaquin sat down on either side of Franco when Franco didn’t make a move.

“We’re not going to fuck off,” Matias said.

 “Suit yourselves,” Franco said, then got up and started walking in the direction of his apartment. He heard them hesitate for a while, and then fumble to their feet and start following Franco like a couple of creeps.

Isco replied on the walk home. _Good night, sweet dreams,_ followed by a heart.

Matias and Joaquin didn’t catch up with Franco – or rather, they decided that they’d stay a safe distance away so Franco wouldn’t explode at them again. They walked all the way back to Franco’s place and stood at the stoop watching Franco go inside.

Franco didn’t say anything to them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was just. He couldn’t bring himself to. He felt so dirty and horrid and he felt so undeserving of such amazing friends. So he did what he did best when he didn’t know what to say. He said nothing.

Franco was so tired. Tired of this rollercoaster ride that was taking him nowhere.

He got inside and had no energy at all to get in the shower, so he just got in bed and fell asleep crying into his pillow.


	31. Show Me Joy, Flower Through Disarray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Fake It by Bastille.

Isco finally had time to meet Franco after their second leg win against Napoli. He headed to the train station straight from the airport and got on the next train to Seville.

He hadn’t told Franco he was going to visit. He thought maybe Franco would appreciate a surprise. Franco had never verbally approved surprises, but Isco knew he sort of liked them.

Isco sighed and settled into his seat with his phone. Franco hadn’t initiated texting in almost a week. Scrolling up their text conversation, it was always Isco starting the conversation, and Franco passively answering him. And stopping the replies as soon as he saw the chance.

Franco was. He was becoming so quiet again. And Isco hated it because he wasn’t by Franco’s side and he didn’t know what Franco was thinking. If Franco was sad or mad or just brooding. If he was hurt in any way. And Isco just. He desperately wanted to hold Franco. Even if Franco didn’t say anything while Isco did it. He just wanted to feel Franco’s warmth against him and _know_ that Franco was there and he was okay.

 _You home?_ he texted Franco.

Franco replied thirty minutes later. _Just got home. Cooking lunch._

_Not out with Mati and Tucu?_

_They went out for lunch. I didn’t want to be outside._

_Okay._

The conversation went dead. Isco sighed again.

 _I miss you,_ he told Franco.

 _Miss u 2,_ Franco replied, followed by a string of hearts. Isco smiled as a wave of relief crashed over him. Franco only ever typed like that when he was in a good mood.

He got to Franco’s house more than two hours later and Franco’s car wasn’t in its usual lot. Maybe he’d gone out for dinner or some groceries or something. Isco let himself in with his copy of the key.

He got into the hallway to see Franco standing cautiously behind the wall, only his head popping out around the corner to see who it was. He was holding a half-eaten bowl of melon cubes.

Franco’s _entire fucking face_ lit up when he saw that it was Isco. A soft smile brightened his features, his eyebrows tilting down on both ends in the way they did when Franco was really happy.

Isco beamed at him and he put his melon cubes down on the table and ran over to wrap Isco in the tightest hug.

“Surprise,” Isco mumbled into his shoulder.

The hug grew tighter. Franco didn’t say anything, just squeezed Isco so tightly he felt like a towel being wrung out, Franco’s arms slid in between Isco’s backpack and his back. Isco was the first to pull away and hold Franco by his hips.

“Hey,” he said, hoping Franco would say something. Anything at all.

Instead, Franco leaned over and pressed his wet lips on Isco’s – which, well. Which was better than anything he could’ve said. He slid the straps of Isco’s backpack off his shoulders so it fell to the floor with a thud, and that was all the baggage Isco had because he’d stored some things in Franco’s closet so Franco took his hands and brought him to the bedroom, all the while still kissing the fuck out of him.

“I’m dir –“ was all Isco managed to say before Franco pushed him and he landed on his back on the bed, diagonally across it.

“Shhh,” Franco said. He crawled over Isco and sat on his abdomen. “Shhh, shhh.”

So Isco shut up. He slid his fingers between Franco’s and let Franco hold his hands down against the mattress on either side of Isco’s head, the smile slowly returning to his face, his eyes glazed over with affection. He tilted his head as if to ask Isco if he was up for it. Isco nodded.

Franco gently slid Isco’s jacket off his shoulders, then ran his palms along Isco’s abdomen all the way up to his chest to remove his t-shirt. He did the same to his own, and then hastily unbuckled Isco’s jeans and tugged them off with his shoes and socks before bending over and starting to french Isco again, his mouth still tasting a little bit like melon. Isco grabbed a handful of his hair and held on, half unsure why Franco was so frisky and affectionate but half also not giving a fuck.

Isco’s legs automatically wrapped themselves around Franco’s waist when Franco started to rub his crotch on Isco’s, the friction startling the both of them into a coordinated soft moan. Isco keened upwards to press his abdomen against Franco’s, but when he didn’t succeed, wrapped his arms around Franco and pulled his body down. He slid his hands down Franco’s back and into the back of Franco’s shorts, pulling them halfway down Franco’s ass and then grabbing two handfuls of his bum and squeezing it.

Franco gave a soft gasp and then a little giggle and Isco felt the heat at his crotch quickly diffuse up to his chest. Like a boner. But in his heart.

Franco wriggled out of his shorts, giving Isco space to get out of his underwear. Then he got on his back on his side of the bed and gestured for Isco to get on top. Isco did, but not quite; he sat between Franco’s thighs and curled his fingers around Franco’s cock, causing Franco’s hips to jerk off the bed. Franco spread his legs wider open when Isco nudged them so he could line his dick up with Franco’s.

Then he took over Isco’s hand, as per usual, because as he would say, Isco’s hands were ‘fucking tiny.’ He wrapped his long fingers around both their lengths and thrusted upwards, making it Isco’s turn to gasp. He buckled over Franco and kissed him sloppily, his lips immediately being coated with spit from how fucking eager Franco’s tongue was. Isco pinched one of Franco’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a little twist, and Franco gave this really loud gurgle like he’d choked on Isco’s tongue.

Isco sat back upright with a sigh. Franco swallowed his spit and locked his eyes on Isco’s, his hand moving to jerk them off more furiously. He hooked his leg over Isco’s shoulder as Isco started to grind his hips on Franco’s, feeling his dick being lubricated by the precome that was coming out of it. Isco managed to tear his gaze off Franco to plant a trail of wet kisses down Franco’s thigh to his calf, sucking on a little piece of muscle there and making Franco moan again. He fidgeted under Isco, his hand clasping more tightly as he started to leak all over himself. Their bodies seemed to know how to move, they seemed to understand what the other needed without Isco and Franco telling them what to do. Isco just. Just felt his body move as it wished and he felt the pleasure in return, he saw the look on Franco’s face that told him he felt the same. Even just. Just frotting the fuck all over each other. Isco knew that there was no other person in this world that could make him feel as _magical_ as Franco did.

Franco’s hand seemed to cramp up a while later so he let go of their dicks and let his hand fall on the bed with a plop. He gave a sigh of relief as Isco slid his dick on Franco’s abdomen, up his v-line and his midline as Isco crawled up and sat on Franco’s chest.

He took the entire of Isco’s length in his mouth at one go, slowly but certainly, his tongue swirling around and making Isco shake with want. He placed his hands on Isco’s thighs, not to guide them but just to grasp them tight as Isco pulled out and thrust again, this time more quickly. Then he just lay there, open-mouthed, letting Isco fuck all he wanted into it. Isco lifted his hips off Franco’s chest as he went harder, two, three times, then stopped to let Franco suck all the spit and precome off his dick and to take a breath. He continued with this rhythm, three quick thrusts and one slow one, until his dick felt so fucking _full_ Isco was sure he was going to explode any moment. He was sure they weren’t going to do all the butt stuff because, well. Because Isco was literally like, seven seconds away from coming, and Franco wasn’t that far behind. Isco had found out when he’d reached behind himself to hold Franco’s dick.

Anyway, before that thought had actually settled in Isco’s mind, he really did explode. He came all over Franco’s face, pulling himself out of Franco’s mouth just in time. Franco squeezed his eyes shut as he began gasping for breath, Isco’s come landing on his cheeks and forehead and some in his mouth. Isco rode his orgasm out by sliding his dick against the crook of Franco’s neck and his jaw, over Franco’s five o’clock shadow, the sensation sending ripples up Isco’s spin. Franco found Isco’s hands and held them tight as Isco gasped and buckled over him, shuddering as the last of his orgasm left his body. He squeezed them so hard the blood flow to them was cut off. Isco eventually pried them out so he could wipe all the come off Franco’s face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thumbs sweeping across Franco’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Franco shook his head silently. He looked a little. A little tired. And sad. He grabbed Isco’s hands and put as many of Isco’s come-covered fingers in his mouth as he could take, gently sucking on them and running his tongue over them. It was. It actually felt pretty good. It made Isco’s insides tingle.

Then Franco gave Isco a little push and sent him on his way back between Franco’s legs. He wrapped his hand around his own boner and gave it a few strokes before letting Isco take over.

Isco licked his lips before lowering them over Franco’s dick, hearing Franco give a soft incoherent murmur. He swirled his tongue around a few times before pulling out save for Franco’s tip. He pressed his tongue against Franco’s slit, slowly increasing the pressure until Franco was sighing and writhing around.

Then Isco began to bob his head up and down, sheathing his teeth most of the time but very occasionally unsheathing them to run his front teeth up Franco’s dick, causing Franco’s hips to lift off the bed. Isco pressed them down, hard, and Franco obliged obediently. He stuck his hands in Isco’s hair and gave a hard twist, intentionally causing Isco to give a little yelp and take Franco’s dick out of his mouth.

Isco glanced at him to see he had his head thrown back on the pillow as he gave a loud, desperate groan. “That was too hot,” he said. “I can’t take it.”

Isco laughed and Franco twisted his hair again, guiding his mouth back to Franco’s dick. “That was the point,” Isco managed to say before his face was shoved back down.

Franco gave another sigh, this time of relief, as Isco started to blow him again. He ran his tongue along Franco’s length, up the bulging vein he had on the underside, and then took Franco in his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down, closing his lips more tightly around Franco’s dick each time. Then he gave one hard suck, hollowing his cheeks out.

And Franco came so fucking violently, the first of his come hitting the back of Isco’s mouth so fucking warm Isco almost choked. He pulled his dick out of Isco’s mouth and Isco started jerking him off with his hand, pausing to squeeze the tip and slide his thumb under the head, making Franco gasp and utter a string of expletives. His hips tipped off the bed again, riding into Isco’s hand, desperate for just the right amount of friction for him to ride his orgasm out into.

Once he stopped shuddering, Isco lowered his lips over his dick again, just to remove all the come on it. Then he ran his tongue up Franco’s abdomen, cleaning up all the come over there and feeling each of Franco’s breaths as an expansion of his abdomen towards Isco’s face, pressing on his nose. He traced a line of kisses up Franco’s abdomen and to his lips, content to collapse on Franco now that all the come was gone from them and they wouldn’t stick together and make Franco mad.

“I love you,” Isco whispered.

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry I came so fast.”

Franco shook his head. “We were nowhere near the butt stuff.”

Isco smiled. He pressed his cheek into Franco’s collarbone. “You okay?” he asked. He had to. Franco looked. He looked melancholic and like the entire world was weighing down on him. Isco didn’t like it. He didn’t know what was happening but he didn’t like it and he wanted to share at least some of it.

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. “I just. I needed this.”

Isco nodded. He didn’t want to come across as pushy. If Franco had something to say, he’d say it. Eventually. Maybe he just needed some time. “You know I’m always here if you have anything you wanna talk about, right?”

“Mmhmm,” Franco mumbled. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Then Isco was made to get off Franco as Franco tried to get under the covers. He made Isco get under them, too, despite the fact that Isco was still dirty. He tried to remind Franco of that but was just shushed again.

They lay there silently side by side for ten minutes or so, Franco facing the ceiling and Isco facing Franco.

“Did anyone bother you on the way here?” Franco finally asked.

Isco shook his head and Franco gave a soft sigh of relief. He didn’t think Isco saw, but. Isco did. “Just, like, people staring at me. ‘Cause I walked quickly and ignored them,” Isco said. “You know, the normal stuff.”

Franco turned on his side and smiled at Isco. It wasn’t really – it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked a little sad but it was still the same adoring look he always gave Isco. “Yeah, everyone always stares at you.”

“I don’t know why.”

“’Cause you’re so hot,” Franco booped him on the nose. “And everyone’s always looking at you and thinking, ‘I’d tap that.’”

“Fuck you,” Isco shoved him gently in the shoulder. “Not everyone thinks about sex all the time.”

Franco’s smile reached the corners of his eyes. “Just us two?” he asked.

“Just us two,” Isco said.

Franco appeared really happy to hear that. Maybe not _happy,_ but. Contented, mostly. He placed a hand on Isco’s cheek, his palm following its curve. He used the tip of his pointer finger to run little circles in Isco’s hair.

“You okay?” Isco asked again. “You’ve been really…quiet.”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. “I’m fine.”

“Really?”

Franco nodded after some hesitation. He removed his hand from Isco’s face and turned to lie on his back, like he was uncomfortable with Isco watching him so closely. He gave a soft sigh.

Isco turned on his back, too. He noticed a few glow-in-the-dark stars pasted on the ceiling. He hadn’t seen them before.

“Those new?” he asked Franco.

Franco nodded. “I put them up a few days ago.”

“Yeah?”

“They comfort me.”

“Stars comfort you?”

Franco turned his head. “You comfort me. You’re my number one star. These are just…second choices.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “I didn’t mean that. I was asking you if stars comfort you.”

“I just want you to know that you comfort me the most.”

“Okay,” Isco whispered. He scooted over and planted a kiss on Franco’s cheek, after which they both settled looking at the stars again. It wasn’t yet fully dark outside, so they weren’t really glowing yet.

“I ever told you my dad used to bring me stargazing?” Franco asked softly.

“Mmhmm. You have.”

“I miss those times. Just us two and the night sky above us.”

“Don’t you do it anymore?”

“Not really. I sorta…I grew up.”

“You moved to Europe.”

“Yeah.”

“You can stargaze in Spain, too. Or in Italy.”

“I know.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Franco smiled. “Okay.”

A long, long silence. So long it almost made Isco itch with discomfort.

“I miss when it was quiet,” Franco whispered.

“It isn’t now?”

Franco shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Isco said.

Franco shook his head again. He turned his body and curled up in Isco’s direction. “’s not your fault.”

And much to Isco’s surprise – tears started to well up in Franco’s eyes as Isco gazed at him. He didn’t seem to notice it at first, just lying there and staring at Isco. Only when Isco reached out and wiped them off with his thumb did Franco snap into action, gently grabbing Isco’s hand and putting it back on the bed. He got up and excused himself to the bathroom, picking up his pants on the way there.

He came back five minutes later with his eyes a little red, but dry. He had his trousers back on. He crawled back into bed next to Isco and curled up again, this time on Isco’s chest, letting Isco wrap him up with both arms. He seemed to have forgotten that Isco had sat on a plane then a train and then got into Franco’s bed without taking a shower.

Franco fell asleep without any further word.

Isco stared at the ceiling until it turned dark outside and the stars began to glow. Besides the big clunky generic greenish stars, there were also other tinier ones, no larger than a grain of rice, splattered around the ceiling above the bed. They glowed silver like glitter on the ceiling, shimmering with the reflection of car headlights whenever one passed outside. They looked like real stars.

It was beautiful. It was a tiny patch of Franco’s sky above them. And Isco wasn’t sure if it was only because Franco was in his arms or if Franco had truly been right and it was a source of comfort. But no matter which one it was, it made Isco feel safe. Made him feel protected. He hoped it would always make Franco feel the same way.

\------

Isco didn’t realise he’d dozed off until Franco started to stir and fidget in his arms.

He checked the clock on the bedside table. It was a little before eight pm.

“Hey,” Isco whispered, gently giving Franco’s shoulder a nudge. Franco stirred even more and eventually opened his eyes a little. “Dinner?”

Franco nodded, then closed his eyes again, shifting off Isco and pushing his face into the pillow, allowing Isco to leave.

“What do you want?” Isco asked.

“I dunno,” Franco mumbled.

Isco got up and put his t-shirt back on, along with a pair of Franco’s dirty shorts from his laundry basket. He wandered to the kitchen and turned on the lights so he could see if there was anything he could cook.

The fridge was practically empty. And the pantry had like, a quarter-filled container of linguine. The pot on the stove contained a half-portion of cold pasta. The bowl of melon cubes was still sitting on the hallway table. Isco dumped them in the trash and washed the bowl.

He went back inside and sat on the bed next to Franco. His eyes were still closed but Isco wasn’t sure if he was asleep.

He put a hand on Franco’s cheek and squeezed gently. Franco opened his eyes. They were still pink with exhaustion.

“Let’s go out for dinner. And to get some groceries.”

Franco blinked at him like he didn’t understand.

“There’s nothing left in your fridge.”

“You wanna…go out? For dinner?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I…” Franco turned on his back and said to the ceiling, “I don’t have my car.”

“Yeah,” Isco remembered not seeing the car when he came. “Where is it?”

“It’s at the repair shop.”

“What happened to it?”

“Uh, something with the engine. It…it can’t start.”

“Okay, we’ll walk, then. Take a walk. Like a date.”

Franco turned to stare at him a while longer. He finally nodded.

Then he rolled out of bed slowly and went to take a shower. Isco thought of joining him, but. But he looked like maybe he needed some time alone. So Isco went to shower in the guest bathroom so they could make it out before all the restaurants closed.

It was a little cold outside so they padded up with a few layers and Isco borrowed a scarf from Franco. Franco stuffed his hands in his pockets as they started walking. He was quiet.

“Talk to me about something,” Isco said.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“Stars, maybe.”

Franco sighed. “I don’t have anything to say about stars.”

Which was – well, which was weird, because Franco _never_ ran out of things to say about stars. Isco pointed that out to him.

“I just don’t feel like talking,” Franco mumbled into his scarf.

Isco was afraid that Franco was mad at him for some reason, so he reached over and nudged his hand into Franco’s pocket to retrieve Franco’s hand. He slid his fingers between Franco’s and Franco didn’t take his hand back, so Isco was relieved.

They walked along a few residential streets and met more and more people on their way, most of them heading home. Franco dipped his head further down with each person they passed, like he was afraid of them. But some of them indeed flashed Isco and Franco some dirty looks, so Isco didn’t blame Franco. Franco put his hand back in his pocket, taking Isco’s hand along with it and holding on to it inside his jacket.

“Cold?” Isco asked.

Franco nodded. He intentionally swerved to avoid a group of young boys, walking on the empty road instead of the pavement, wrapping Isco under his arm like he wanted to hide Isco. They gave Franco and Isco dirty looks.

Franco slowed down when they reached a relatively quiet street. He sighed and slowed down. Which was no problem with Isco, because then he didn’t need to fucking brisk walk to catch up with his super tall boyfriend. Franco gave a sigh and a sniffle.

“You okay?” Isco asked. He felt like it was the ninetieth time he’d asked that on that day.

Franco nodded.

“You falling sick?”

Franco turned and stared at him like he hadn’t thought about that. Then he nodded again. “Maybe, yeah.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you out.”

Franco shrugged. He suddenly stopped and sat on the curb. Isco sat down next to him.

“Just a little break,” Franco said. He pulled his hood over his head so it shielded his face.

“You wanna take a cab into town or something?”

“We won’t get a cab here at this hour.”

“You wanna call Mati? Or Tucu?”

Franco sighed. He thought about it for a while. Then he took his phone out of his jeans pocket. “Yeah, you call Tucu. They’d love to go grocery shopping.”

So Isco took the phone and found Joaquin’s number, which he dialled. Joaquin answered after three rings.

“Hey,” Isco said. He glanced at Franco, who was staring at the ground nervously. Isco clicked the speaker button. “Hey, it’s Isco. I’m with Franco.”

“Hey,” Joaquin said after a short pause. “Hi, what’s up?”

“Uh, we’re…we’re sort of stranded. Like, we’re on our way walking to town and, uh. Franco doesn’t feel too well. Could you, uh, maybe come get us? If you aren’t busy. Uh, we can like, all go out together. Yeah.”

A really long pause from Joaquin this time.

“Yeah, sure,” he finally said hesitantly. “Uh, what are you going into town for?”

“Dinner and some grocery shopping.”

“Do you…should I call Mati?”

“Sure.”

“Text me where you are. We’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

“’s okay.”

Then he hung up. Isco texted him the street they were on.

Franco hadn’t said a single word. When Isco turned to him, he was still staring at the ground and rocking back and forth.

“Franco,” Isco said softly. “Will you please tell me if anything is wrong?”

Franco nodded, but didn’t make eye contact. “It’s nothing. I’m just…just overwhelmed. That’s all.”

“You’re okay? Really?”

“Mmhmm. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m such a downer.”

“It’s okay. You’re not.”

“I love going on dates with you.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah?”

“They’re my favourite thing to do.”

“I love you so much.”

“Love you too.”

Isco knew that he couldn’t ever force anything out of Franco if Franco had set his heart not to say anything, so he just wrapped Franco up in a hug to warm him up. He hoped that he could hug all of Franco’s worries away. He was relieved when Franco just melted into him, finally smiling a tiny little smile.

\------

Matias drove by with Joaquin in the passenger seat to get them about twenty five minutes later.

The car was eerily quiet as Franco and Isco got into it. Matias and Joaquin glanced at each other, then into the rearview mirror at Franco. Franco gave them a nod. Isco didn’t seem to notice anything.

“Do you want to go home first?” he asked Franco softly. “I’ll just go grocery shopping with them.”

Franco shook his head. He hadn’t even apologised to Matias and Joaquin yet for yelling at them. He hadn’t even spoken to them. He didn’t want them to tell Isco what had happened, or for Isco to tell them that he didn’t know about it at all. Maybe he’d get an opportunity to talk to the both of them. Franco really didn’t feel like being outside, but if being outside meant he could be by Isco’s side, then he was okay with it.

“I’ll come along,” he said softly. “I feel…uh, I feel better.”

They got into town and found a kebab stand still open, so they got kebabs and ate while walking to the supermarket. And then everyone had to wait for Franco to finish eating before they could go inside because Franco ate the slowest. Isco made the most noise out of it.

They got a shopping trolley at the entrance of the supermarket. There were a few things on sale at the entrance, so Isco picked some of them out. Then he scurried away to get more microwave popcorn, leaving Franco alone with Matias and Joaquin.

“So,” Matias said after they’d been walking silently down the aisle, Franco distracting himself by looking at all the different sauces but picking none of them. “Grocery shopping, huh?”

Franco smiled at the barely-filled shopping trolley. “Thought you guys would appreciate that.”

“We do,” Joaquin said.

“I…” Franco scratched at the back of his head. “I'm sorry. For lashing out at you guys. I know it wasn't your fault.”

“It’s okay,” Matias said.

“We understand,” Joaquin added.

“Thanks,” Franco said.

“Yeah.”

Silence for a while. The wheels of the cart rolled unsteadily on the waxed floor.

“You don't have your car back?” Matias asked.

Franco shook his head.

“Why is it taking so long?” Matias pondered.

“They told me that it was examined for the police report. But that's only one thing. It's taking longer at the mechanic.”

“What's up with it?” Joaquin asked.

“The, uh, engine won't start.”

A long pause from Joaquin and Matias.

“That what you told Isco?” Joaquin prodded. When Franco turned to him, he was giving a little private smirk.

Franco nodded and they both chuckled. Franco couldn't help but join in.

“I just don't want you guys to think that I'm...like, making use of you,” Franco said. “You know. Calling you when I need you.”

“We don't think that,” Matias said earnestly. “I mean, if I'd been in your shoes that night, I'd probably have been really mad as well.”

“You know we love hanging out with you, Mudo,” Joaquin said. “And your tiny boyfriend.”

“He's not tiny,” Matias said. Really defensively.

Franco laughed. “Size is only a concept.”

“You know, I think that's what only people with big dicks say,” Joaquin pointed out.

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco shoved him in the shoulder. “What the fuck.”

Joaquin burst into loud laughter, that fucking minx, and Franco and Matias just stared at him helplessly. Then Isco came bounding around the corner with like, six bags of microwave popcorn in his arms. And a couple tubs of yoghurt. And a random bunch of spinach.

“So he doesn't know, yeah?” Matias asked lowly as Joaquin’s laughter subsided.

Franco shook his head.

“Not even about Betis?”

“Not even that.”

“‘Kay.”

Then they all shut up when Isco reached the cart and dumped all his stuff in it. “You guys didn't get anything yet?” Isco asked, puzzled.

Then Joaquin picked up this packet of gourmet potato chips which cost like, eight euros. “Franco’s paying!” he announced, then went running down the aisle picking out other random – and expensive – things. Matias followed him, picking out things from the other side.

Franco rolled his eyes. “Losers,” he muttered.

“Let's go get some fruits,” Isco said, hooking his arm in Franco’s. “And veggies. And mushrooms.”

“You already got vegetables,” Franco pointed at the spinach.

“Oh, that was just a bunch someone left lying around. It's a pity. It's really green.”

“You can't just go around stealing other people's spinach,” Franco said.

“I didn't steal it. They didn't want it!”

“Well, there must've been a reason why they didn't want it.”

“Okay, so let's go pick out some more,” Isco said, dragging Franco along and pushing the cart. “But if this is still the greenest, we’re taking it.”

Franco sighed and obliged. He let Isco drag him to the fruits and vegetables and then start a whole monologue about what kinds of fruits and vegetables he liked. He hadn't spoken this many words the entire day put together. Franco thought maybe it was because Franco was being such a fucking downer. So he was happy to at least see Isco being normal again.

They filled their cart with raw food and then headed over to the dry section for some pasta and rice and sauces – which Franco picked out this time – and then a box of frozen personal pies because Isco was hungry again and wanted supper. He also grabbed a packet of biscuits he claimed was for the ride home. God, grocery shopping with him was exhausting. A good exhausting, but exhausting.

Joaquin and Matias returned with a basket full of things they claimed Franco had to pay for. Franco did. Partly because he was too tired to argue, partly because they were his good friends. Partly because he felt like he owed them something.

“Grocery shopping with you is really fun,” Joaquin commented as they were splitting all their things into separate bags.

“Invite us again next time,” Matias suggested.

Isco burst into laughter because, well. _He_ wasn’t the one paying money. But anyway, Franco was fine with it. He didn’t verbally answer them. Silence was consent, he assumed.

Matias drove Isco and Franco home with all their groceries in the boot and Isco was insistent on only making one trip so he hung as many bags as he could on his arms. There was an entire melon in one of those. His biceps were bulging by the time he got all of them and Franco couldn’t stop staring at them.

“Can’t take your eyes off these guns?” Isco asked. He lifted an arm but it didn’t reach his lips because it was too heavy. “Okay, I wanna be a showoff and kiss them but I can’t reach them. Just pretend I’m kissing them.”

Franco laughed. What a fucking loser. He would only let Franco carry like, three bags, because he wanted to show off his dumb biceps.

“Thanks, guys,” Franco said to Joaquin and Matias.

“Yeah,” Matias said with a wave out the window. “Bye, Fran...co – hey, I just realised you guys have similar names! That’s so fucking cool.”

Isco beamed proudly. He tried to wave as the car left but again failed to lift his arm.

“Thanks for the treat!” Joaquin yelled out the window when the car was about ten metres away.

Isco had turned his smile towards Franco when Franco turned back to him. He puckered his lips. “Kiss,” he demanded.

Franco leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. They turned upward and Franco’s followed.

“Let’s go inside, these big boys might be strong but they need their rest,” Isco said when they pulled apart.

“Stop personifying your biceps,” Franco grumbled. “Lemme take some stuff.”

“No, my big boys can still work.”

Franco rolled his eyes. He held the door open for Isco as Isco stumbled sideways inside because he couldn’t fit in frontways. Then Isco proceeded to dump everything on the kitchen table and stretch out on the couch, leaving Franco to put everything away. Which Franco did without a single word.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he said once he was done. Frankly, Franco was way too tired to care about being clean but he just. He needed this shower. It was his restart button. He’d be fine once he got a shower. He’d been taking frequent showers just to. Just to try and wash everything away.

“Can I come with –” Isco called from where he was, sitting on the couch, TV turned off, playing with his phone. He sat up a little before leaning back into his original position. He paused a little, then, “Do you...you wanna be alone?”

And Franco - well, Franco had wanted to be alone. But he looked at Isco again, sitting alone on that sofa, looking eager to join Franco behind the reluctance to butt into Franco’s alone time, and he realised he would rather be with Isco than be alone.

Franco went over to the couch and took both of Isco’s hands, pulling him to his feet and to the bathroom, Franco walking backwards so he could see the smile that slowly grew on Isco’s face.

“You wanna fuck?” Isco asked in a whisper although there was no need.

“Do you?”

Isco shook his head slowly, like he was worried if that was the correct answer. “I just...wanna be with you.”

Franco nodded an okay. They got to the bathroom quietly and started to take off all their clothes without saying a word, moving smoothly together, managing not to budge too much into each other’s space in the small area. Then they got into the shower together and Franco wanted to clean himself but Isco started scrubbing him instead, looking down and avoiding eye contact with Franco, like he was afraid Franco would reject him. Franco didn’t. Franco just watched the tiny smile on Isco’s face and he watched Isco’s stubby but elegant fingers slowly swirl the soap bubbles around. He watched the shower splash down on Isco’s hair, flattening it on his head as the shampoo ran out of it. He watched the last of the bubbles wash down the drain and he hugged Isco for a while, reluctant to leave the warm water. Isco just held him. He just held Franco like Franco loved, held Franco like Franco had been wishing to be held for the past week; in a way that put all of Franco’s broken pieces back together.

Franco wanted to go to bed after showering, but Isco had a hunger pang so he went outside and popped one of those small personal pies into the oven. Franco lay in bed for a while before the lure of Isco’s warmth brought him outside to join Isco. He sat on the couch as Isco channel-surfed, stopping Isco when he got to National Geographic because it was showing something about black holes.

Then the stovetop oven dinged so Isco had to go get his pie, leaving Franco cold for a while. He was warm again when Isco returned. He put his head in Isco’s lap and curled up on himself, and a couple of pie crumbs fell on his face as Isco ate but Franco just picked them up and shoved them into Isco’s mouth because he didn’t want them all over his floor.

Isco finished half of the pie in like, two minutes. It smelled good and Franco decided to ask for some before Isco completely wolfed up the entire thing.

“Can I have some?” Franco asked, propping himself up on his elbows and leaning over Isco’s lap to put his face near the pie.

“No,” Isco said.

“C’mon,” Franco whined. “Just one mouthful. It’s making me hungry.”

Isco waved his fork around with this. This sudden proud look on his face. “I don’t give a...fork.”

Franco groaned. He curled back up on Isco’s thighs and sulked at the TV.

“I’ll give you some if you admit my pun was good,” Isco said.

“It wasn’t.”

“Fork you.”

“Stop saying fork.”

“Fork.”

Franco huffed and continued watching the black hole documentary. Isco munched for a little while, then wiggled his legs so Franco would get up and he could pass Franco the pie.

“Fine, you whiny little bitch,” he said.

“You’re the whiny little bitch,” Franco said. He took the pie and ate a forkful. It was as delicious as it smelled and Franco suddenly realised that he was really hungry. After all, he’d only eaten a kebab for dinner. He continued digging at the leftover pie, a little less than half of it.

“Should I make another one?” Isco asked, which made Franco realise he was just hogging the pie.

When he turned to Isco, though, Isco was just smiling at him and watching him eat with this really adoring look on his face, like. Like he was just happy to see that Franco had an appetite again.

“Sorry,” Franco said. He passed the pie back to Isco.

Isco shook his head. “Finish it.”

Franco shook his head back at Isco. He took one of Isco’s hands and put the dish in it, hoping Isco wouldn’t argue because Franco was tired and he suddenly didn’t want to eat anymore. And Isco didn’t argue. He took the pie and finished the rest of it, about a quarter.

Then he went to put everything away and clean up, and by the time he returned to the couch National Geographic was talking about zebras. He snuggled up all into Franco’s personal space and kissed Franco on the lips.

“You feeling better?” he asked.

Franco nodded.

“Still hungry?”

Franco shook his head.

Isco kissed him again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You sure nothing’s wrong?” he asked. Franco nodded, and Isco gently pressed Franco’s hair down on his head. “You sure? I’ll listen if you want me to.”

Franco swallowed hard. A part of him just wanted to blurt everything out to Isco just like Franco always had the tendency to do around him, no matter what the topic. But a part of him knew that maybe this wasn’t the right time. Franco just. Isco was so happy and his life was going great, and Franco loved him and all Franco wanted to do right then was just to sit with Isco and drown in Isco’s presence. He felt so. So _okay_ when Isco was around. So safe and protected. He wanted to cherish this feeling and not forget it when Isco inevitably had to leave the next day.

So he shook his head, and he said, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just...just a little down. Just tired, and...yeah.”

“You’ll get better?” Isco asked softly. He cupped Franco’s cheek in his palm. “When I’m not around, you’ll be okay?”

Franco nodded, and he felt tears prick violently at the back of his eyes, so he leaned forward and let his lips crash against Isco’s. Isco let himself get lost in it for a while, his hands moving to mess up Franco’s hair and his lips parting, making Franco’s do the same. Franco was the first to pull away. He pressed his forehead against Isco’s and brushed their noses together.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Vazquez.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, love,” Isco said softly. He gave Franco’s stubble a little rub. “You wanna go to bed?”

Franco shook his head. He pointed at the TV. “I wanna watch the zebras.”

“Okay.”

“You can go to bed if you want.”

“Nah,” Isco said. He made Franco lie on the extended end of the couch and he rested his head on Franco’s belly, his body perpendicular to Franco’s, along the length of the couch. He closed his eyes when Franco’s hand landed in his hair, fingers softly running through his wild curls.

Franco sat there – well, half sat, half lay – with his head propped up on a cushion, but he had to admit he was watching Isco more than he was watching the zebras. Isco was. He was tiny and beautiful and Franco couldn’t believe he wanted to spend every single second with Franco as much as Franco wanted to with him. And he had rarely, if ever, called Franco ‘love’ or ‘my love’ or anything of that sort. It made. It made Franco melt inside but also feel like he was massively letting Isco down by hiding this from him. It was the biggest dilemma of Franco’s life and Franco knew, Franco knew that it should have been easy to decide whether to tell Isco, and he knew the right decision was to share his troubles with his boyfriend – but the part of him that wanted Isco to be safe and happy greatly triumphed over that diplomatic decision.

Franco managed to hold his tears back until Isco had fallen asleep. He clapped his free hand over his mouth and bit hard into the flesh of his middle finger, hoping that his shuddering wouldn't wake Isco up. His other hand remained in Isco's hair, softly moving because Isco would stir if he stopped.

“I love you,” Franco whispered. Even though Isco was so sound asleep he was snoring a little.

The snoring stopped and Isco wrapped his arms more tightly around Franco’s waist. He gave it a little sleepy squeeze. When Franco peeked, he saw a tiny smile.

That was enough for Franco, so he finally shut his eyes and eventually fell asleep when his sobbing subsided.

\------

Spanish TV played a rerun of the Seville derby on the day Real Madrid returned from Naples.

And Alvaro saw it.

He heard the booing and he saw Franco cowering his way off the pitch. He checked the news on his phone and they were all up Betis’ ass about it. The club had been charged. Some fans had been charged – they'd been charged for ruining Franco’s car.

Alvaro wondered why Isco had never talked to him about this.

He called Isco, but Isco didn't answer. He’d rushed off when they arrived in Madrid and he must've gone to Seville to see Franco. He was probably busy blowing Franco or whatever, gross.

So Alvaro called Paulo instead.

“Hey,” he said when Paulo picked up. “I know I keep bugging you about reruns but I just saw something weird and I need to talk to someone about it.”

There was a really long pause from Paulo and Alvaro thought he was going to sigh and get pissy again, like a stupid pissy bird. Alas, he didn’t.

Instead, he asked really slowly, “Is it the Real Betis vs Sevilla match?”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

“You weren’t supposed to watch that,” Paulo said, suddenly exasperated, which left Alvaro really confused because he wasn’t really sure where he’d gone wrong.

“Why?” he asked.

“No, I mean,” Paulo sighed, but not in the pissy way. “It’s about Franco, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He told me about it.”

“And you didn’t tell _me_?” Alvaro asked. “Rude. That’s not what I have a boyfriend for.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Paulo said. “Anyway, he said Isco doesn’t know. He doesn’t want Isco to know.”

“Okaaaay,” Alvaro said, dragging the word until he thought of something else to say. “So...I’m not supposed to tell him either?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then who the fuck am I supposed to talk to about this?”

“Me?” Paulo suggested. “You can’t tell Isco.”

“But – but he’s – he’s my friend. I mean, I see him every day. I can’t...not mention it.”

“You can,” Paulo said matter-of-factly. “Look, this is why we didn’t wanna tell you. You’re just going to go on ahead and tell him and then Franco will be mad and Isco will be mad and everyone will be mad!”

“Are you calling me a chatterbox?”

“Aren’t you? When have you ever kept a secret in your entire life?”

And okay, that was true, so Alvaro shut up about that. “What did Franco say?” he asked.

“Nothing much. He just really doesn't want Isco to know.”

“Why?”

“Probably doesn't want him to worry. Look, Alvaro, you can't tell Isco anything, okay? You _can't_ tell him _anything._ ”

“Okay,” Alvaro said. Isco was undeniably Alvaro’s second best friend in the entire world behind Paulo, and he guessed that Franco only wanted the best for Isco so Alvaro was going to help him. Besides, Alvaro was pretty sure Franco secretly like, forty percent hated him, and he didn't want to make that worse, so. “Okay. I’ll...try not to say anything, I guess.”

“Try your very very best?”

“Yeah. My very very best.”

“Love you.”

“Me too.”

Alvaro hung up and sighed. He was lucky Isco hadn't returned his call. He opened his text window with Isco and thought of what to say.

 _Sorry, I pressed the wrong name,_ was what he finally came up with after like, five whole minutes. He hoped Isco wouldn’t be suspicious – which, well. Honestly, it wasn’t very likely because Isco was just a tiny confused dork who never knew what was going on.

He put his phone away and browsed through TV channels until he found one showing an old episode of The Amazing Race.

\------

Franco was invited to Madrid for a meal with Isco and some of his teammates on his day off two days later, before Sevilla’s next match. Isco told him he was actually pretty reluctant to invite Franco because he wasn’t sure if Franco was up for it, but in the end decided it was Franco’s decision.

“Do you want me to go?” Franco asked.

“I don’t know,” Isco told him. “They’re pretty...uh, noisy. So, like. If you don’t wanna...interact. With them. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Franco said. But he thought about how enthusiastic Isco had been with Joaquin and Matias when they invited him out for dinner. Maybe Franco should play his part, too. After all, banding together with other footballers was an important part of the big picture. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“Really?” Isco asked eagerly.

“You said you didn’t know if you want me to go,” Franco pointed out. “What are you so excited about?”

“I – I mean,” Isco stammered. “I'm always excited to see you.”

Franco laughed. “Me, too.”

“So you're coming?”

“Mmhmm. I'll go.”

“Okay!” Isco said happily. “I'll see you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Franco smiled.

He put the phone down and couldn't stop smiling for like, the rest of the day. He only stopped because his cheeks started to hurt and he couldn't walk on the street without everyone staring at him – not because he was gay but because he was just smiling like a madman.

Anyway, he was on the train to Madrid that very evening, the same day Isco had asked him. He headed to the train station right after training, in his Sevilla jumper and jeans. He sat on a bench waiting for the train and he was approached by six people in the forty-five minutes he was there. Three of them for photos. Two of them to ask him some questions he didn't feel like answering and thus rejected. And one of them to say encouraging words regarding all the treatment Franco was getting. Just _one_ out of all of them.

And not to mention the tens of other people who stared or glared or yelled at him as they passed; a big red blob sitting in the middle of the platform wasn't hard to miss. Franco pulled his cap on and tugged it to cover his eyes. Wearing a cap indoors and in the evening wasn't the best fashion statement but Franco was taking it.

He reached Madrid just after dinnertime. Madrid was – Madrid just felt different. It felt fresher. It felt more...welcoming. Franco took a deep breath of the Madrid air and sighed. He hoped Madrid would treat him well on his first time here after all that mess.

He cleared the train station quickly. There weren’t many people but the people who _were_ there were pretty calm. They smiled at Franco. Gave him little waves. Stared at him a little. Maybe one person glared. But that was still a lot less compared to the proportion of Seville’s population that seemed to be pissed at Franco. So at least all was calm where Isco was.

Franco got to Isco’s house right before Junior’s bedtime. Needless to say, he was so excited to see Franco he refused to go to bed.

“Sorry,” Franco whispered to Isco from under Junior’s arm, where Junior had decided to put him. He was draped over Franco’s shoulder, practically upside down, and giggling merrily.

Isco shook his head and smiled. He was sitting on the other end of the couch just watching them lovingly. “‘s okay.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Franco asked Junior. “Hmm? Don’t you wanna go to sleep?”

“Don’t wanna go to sleep!” Junior announced, his voice pitched higher from being hung upside down.

“Okay, what do you want to do?”

“Vazquez play with me.”

So Franco brought him into his room and sat on the ground as Junior scurried around him, bringing all his different toys to Franco and forming a little toy circle around him.

Then he proceeded to fall over on Franco’s lap and fall asleep right there. With all his toys still out.

Franco sighed. He picked Junior up and tucked him into his cot before picking up as many toys as he could and putting them back in their places. He made a second trip, picking out the yellow teddy that he’d bought for Junior and that Junior always slept with. He dusted it off and put it in the cot next to Junior, who snuggled up with it instantly.

He heard a chuckle from the door and turned to see that it was Isco leaning on the doorframe and just. Just standing there being not helpful at all.

“How long have you been standing there?” Franco whispered.

“Since you came in.”

“Have you ever heard of helping?”

Isco smacked him on the shoulder as he walked past. “I like seeing you two together.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled.

“Mmhmm,” Isco said, grabbing Franco’s shoulders and pushing him towards the bathroom. “Time to shower, stinkypants.”

“You’re the stinkypants,” Franco retorted before the door was shut in his face. His clothes were outside. He didn’t even have a towel. He rolled his eyes but got in the shower anyway, knowing Isco would return with one soon enough.

He did, from Franco’s little corner in Isco’s wardrobe. He walked into the bathroom like there wasn’t a naked Franco standing right there in the shower, and put all the things down. Then he sat on the closed toilet and waited for Franco, that fucking creep.

But Franco felt so safe there. Not just because he was in Madrid and halfway across the country from the haters. But because he was there with Isco, he didn’t need to wait an entire week to see Isco again like he’d first thought, and he could fall asleep in Isco’s arms which were so fucking short they could barely wrap Franco up properly but which Franco loved all the more. And that was more than Franco needed.

\------

So, ‘Isco and some of his teammates’ turned out to be just Isco, Alvaro, Marco, and Lucas. Alvaro because he was a given; Marco because Isco had apparently promised him an outing with Franco. Lucas because – well. Isco didn't really know why. But it was cool. At least he got along with Franco.

They went out for an early dinner because the Madrid guys had training before that. Franco drove to get them and then everyone fought over who got shotgun, and the obvious answer was Isco but then Alvaro said he was the tallest so he ordered everyone else to squeeze in the back with the baby seat. There was a lot of yelling and laughing. Isco was afraid Franco would be annoyed or overwhelmed, but he peeked and saw Franco smiling shyly so all was well.

Franco got stuck next to Marco for dinner, though, which was unfortunate to say the least. He peppered Franco with questions because he claimed he didn't get to do so when Franco was in the locker room. Which wasn't false, but Franco looked so scared and he clutched on tightly to Isco’s hand next to him.

“Will you let him eat his food?” Isco asked when he finally got a chance to get a word in. “He’s already a slow eater. You’re making it worse!”

“Okay, I’ll do the talking then,” Marco said, and then proceeded to tell this really long story about how his grandparents used to own this paella restaurant and he and his cousins used to eat paella every day.

Isco sighed and propped his cheek up on his hand, gaze flitting between Marco’s animated soliloquy and Franco’s slow chewing. Franco gave him a brief glance and, when he saw Isco was just watching him, caught his eye and smiled.

Isco gave his hand a squeeze. He’d already finished his food so he just watched Franco eat. Marco was distracted by Lucas and Alvaro, who seemed really into his paella story. Which was good. At least Franco got some peace.

“So Franco,” Lucas said when he finally had enough of Marco’s rambling. “You're...quiet.”

“I, uh,” Franco shrugged. “I don't really, like, know how to talk about myself.”

“You don't like or you don't know?” Marco asked, confused. Isco narrowed his eyes, wondering if Marco was doing it on purpose.

Franco shrugged again. “Both?”

“They prefer to talk about each other,” Alvaro chimed in, jabbing two of his fingers in a horizontal V at Isco and Franco. “Well, maybe Franco prefers to talk about Isco. Isco likes to talk about everything.”

Everyone laughed, including Franco, but Isco rolled his eyes. “Franco doesn't talk about himself. I don't...okay maybe I talk a little about Franco. But you can't really know anything about him if you talk about him. You have to...be with him. Be around him. To get him.”

“Or maybe ask me like, sixty questions at once,” Franco added, referring to the beginning of their friendship/relationship/fuck buddy-ship.

Alvaro waved his hand in their direction. “See?”

Everyone laughed again, and Franco had _finally_ finished his food so Isco grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the door. “Last one at the table pays!” he yelled.

There was a wild scramble and Franco started laughing. Lucas ended up having to pay and the other two hovered victoriously around him while he did, so Isco took Franco outside. The sun had just set and it was becoming cooler. Franco took Isco’s hand and tucked it in the pocket of his sweater.

“You doing okay?” Isco asked. Franco had barely spoken ten words.

“Yeah,” Franco said. He smiled.

“Are they...are you annoyed by them?”

“No, why would I be?”

“They're noisy.”

“You're noisy and I’m not annoyed by you.”

“Fuck you,” Isco slapped him on the shoulder, laughing because he was relieved that Franco could still joke. “Because you love me, that's why.”

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. He leaned over and kissed Isco softly on the lips.

A crowd suddenly passed them and Franco snapped away so quickly Isco was worried he'd sprain his neck. He stared warily at Isco, then at the people walking past.

They all gave Isco and Franco warm, encouraging smiles, and Franco relaxed immediately. He turned back to Isco with a smile. “That's nice,” he said.

“Yeah,” Isco slid his free hand through Franco’s hair. “Some people still glare at me, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“The kind of glare that makes you wanna shower seven times?”

“Yeah.”

“I get those too.”

Isco unraveled his hand from Franco's and took it out of Franco's pocket. He wrapped his arms tightly around Franco as Franco did with him, tucking his head into Franco’s shoulder.

“We’ll be okay,” Isco whispered.

“Yeah?” Franco asked, his voice trembling a little.

“I promise,” Isco said.

Franco hugged him more tightly, and Isco wondered why the three musketeers hadn't come out yet, so he turned around while still hugging Franco and – and saw them fucking standing in the restaurant window with all their phones held up towards Franco and Isco.

Isco raised his middle finger at them and Franco laughed when he realised. He gave Isco a kiss on his hair and asked, “Are all Spanish people like that?” Then he paused for a while and continued, “That’s racist. Sorry. It was a joke but it was racist.”

It was Isco’s turn to laugh. Lucas and Marco and Alvaro were – well, they were just like Isco. It was no wonder Franco asked that. “It’s ‘kay,” he said, grabbing Franco’s hand again and pulling him down the street. “Let’s go, these fuckers can stay here forever if they want.”

“But they were here for me,” Franco said.

“Don’t be all cocky now.”

Franco giggled. He fucking giggled, the tall fucker. “Anyway, I’m having a good time. I just want you to know that.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “Okay. That’s great.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Franny,” Isco tiptoed and planted a kiss on Franco’s cheek. He heard some whooping coming from behind, a telltale sign that the three idiots had left the restaurant and were now following them. “Thanks for coming out with my friends.”

Franco beamed. “‘Course.”

Then the three of them caught up with Isco and Franco, pouncing on the both of them and continuing to chatter away. Franco smiled at them and Isco was relieved. Franco was looking much better than he did a couple days ago and that was enough for Isco. He was still quiet, but Isco knew this sort of melancholy or burnout or whatever Franco was feeling didn’t go away so quickly or easily, especially for someone like Franco. So Isco took it. Isco was just happy to see Franco smile.

\------

Franco ended up walking with Alvaro while Lucas and Marco hovered around Isco in front of them.

It was awkward for a while – that was a given by then – as they walked with their hands in their pockets, Franco’s head hanging and Alvaro occasionally glancing timidly at him.

“Do you have something to say?” Franco finally asked.

“No,” Alvaro replied way too quickly. “I mean…”

“What?”

“I just,” Alvaro shrugged. “I know. About the...stuff.”

Franco froze internally but continued walking. “What – uh, what stuff?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Vazquez.”

Franco rolled his eyes. “Paulo told you?”

“No, the rerun was playing on TV,” Alvaro said. “Paulo said, uh, you didn’t want me to know.”

“Yeah,” Franco shrugged. “I mean, you’re pretty close to Isco.”

“And I have a blabbermouth. I get it,” Alvaro said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been the biggest fucking struggle of my life, but yeah.”

Franco laughed. “Thanks.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Franco said. It was. It was a little weird, having Alvaro...care about him. “I’m fine.”

“You got your car back?”

“It’s ready. I’m collecting it tomorrow.”

“Cool.”

They walked in silence for a little while more. Isco turned around to look at them; he’d been doing that a few times as they walked, like he wanted to see if Franco was okay with being accompanied by Alvaro. Franco gave him a smile and a look of relief washed over his face.

“Do, uh,” Franco gestured to Lucas and Marco. “Do they know?”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said, avoiding eye contact. “They, uh. Saw it on TV.”

Franco felt panic rise within him. “They’re – they’re not going to –”

“Nah,” Alvaro cut him off. “It’s not something that you...you just ask someone. You know? Like, they won’t just go to Isco and ask him about it. It’s not...something you can do that about. I mean, they came to me about it, and that was okay. I told them not to say anything.”

“And they won’t?”

“They’re better than me at this sort of thing,” Alvaro said, shrugging. “And I haven’t said anything, so.”

“Yeah,” Franco smiled at the ground, his heart rate slowing again. “Uh. Thanks.”

Alvaro nodded. Isco was turning around again to check on them. Franco gave him a little wave and he turned back in front.

“Do you think this is kinda…” Franco made a vague gesture. “Mean?”

“How?”

“Like, I’m keeping something from him. Something this big.”

“Yeah, well,” Alvaro shrugged. “I’m not someone that people will come to for relationship advice, but. I don’t know. If I were you I’d probably do the same.”

“It’s like, it’ll die down, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s died down a little for me and Paulo.”

“It’s okay in Madrid, right?” Franco asked. “Like, people don’t stop you on the streets to...I don’t know. Ask questions. Or like, insult you. Insult you, mainly. They don’t do that, right?”

“Yeah. They don’t.”

“Yeah, that’s...that’s good, then,” Franco said softly. “I just...I don’t want him to go through the same things I’m going through.”

Alvaro nodded again. “Yeah. It’s cool. I’m cool with it. You don’t have to justify it to me. I mean, it’s your relationship.”

“Thanks,” Franco whispered.

“Yeah,” Alvaro said again.

They walked silently until they finally caught up with Isco and company at the corner of the street, arguing over whether they should go to the vintage store just because Lucas wanted to.

“Let’s go there,” Franco suggested, but he said it so softly he wasn’t sure anyone actually heard it.

But they did. They all stopped talking at once and stared at Franco like they were surprised Franco could actually talk. Lucas was the first to break into a smile.

“See, I knew my long, long, long, long-lost cousin would back me up,” he said, and then led the way proudly.

Franco laughed. He hung at the back as the group moved, but like three seconds later Isco realised and hung back with him. “You okay?” he asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Did Alvaro say anything mean to you? I’ll hit him.”

“I think if either of us were to say something mean, it’d be me saying something mean to Alvaro,” Franco pointed out.

“Okay, true,” Isco said. “But did he?”

“No,” Franco said.

“What did you two talk about?”

“About you,” Franco said, because then he wasn’t lying.

“What about me?” Isco asked curiously.

“About whether you’re a good kisser,” Franco said casually. Since, you know. Isco _had_ kissed Alvaro before.

Isco went quiet for a few seconds, and Franco thought he was going to be mad, but instead he said, “So...what was your conclusion?”

Franco burst into laughter. “That’s it? That’s what you’re most interested in? Not the fact that I talked to _Alvaro_ about _kissing_?”

“Well, that too.”

“We concluded that you’re not that good of a kisser.”

Isco slapped him hard on the arm. “Don’t be fucking rude.”

Franco laughed. He gave Isco’s nose a pinch and wiggle. They continued walking silently for a while, hand in hand, Isco trying to swing it like they were two kids holding hands but Franco not playing along and instead holding it tightly by his side.

Then Isco suddenly asked, “Am I really a bad kisser?”

Franco burst into laughter again, much more loudly than before. “No,” he managed to say, wrapping his arm around Isco and squeezing Isco close. “I was joking.”

“Really?” Isco asked, muffled into Franco's sweater.

“Yeah. Really. Promise. You’re the best kisser in the world.”

“Yeah? Kiss me to prove it.”

So Franco kissed him hard on the lips, his heart doing a little backflip when Isco smiled. He gave a little chuckle when Isco tried to shove his tongue between Franco’s lips.

“I thought you were the one who told me we weren’t supposed to french in public,” he said against Isco’s lips.

“Just a lil bit,” Isco said. He said it really adorably. So Franco gave in.

They broke apart when Alvaro yelled really loudly from about twenty feet away, “Gross!”

Isco laughed but Franco glared at Alvaro. In all honesty, Franco was glad to be out. He was tired of cooping himself up at home in fear of what he’d meet on the streets. But it seemed to be okay here, and they were in a big group. Franco was determined to have a good time.

They caught up with the three of them when they got to the vintage shop, and they wandered around inside for the best part of thirty minutes, trying not to knock anything over. They eventually left without buying anything and everyone grumbled at Lucas for wasting their time, but frankly Franco was happy. He liked old things. He told Isco that and Isco asked him if it was because Franco was also old. God, Franco could never win.

Then for some reason they started talking about the sky, and Marco and Lucas found out that Franco was an astronomy geek, so they each grabbed one of his sides and asked him to tell them everything he could. Franco did. Well, he told them all he could in the last forty minutes they had together.

It was exhausting, actually, being in the center of attention and talking so much suddenly. But Franco turned to glance behind and he saw Isco walking by Alvaro’s side, not talking, just watching Franco. He gave a big, big smile when Franco’s eyes met his. A smile brighter than all the stars Franco was currently talking about.

And that was enough. That was more than enough for Franco.

For the first time in what felt like forever to Franco – Franco was doing good. Franco was okay, he was feeling okay, he was alive and he was happy. And he was enough. It didn’t matter what people said about him. He was enough.

\------

The following week, Real Madrid hosted Real Betis.

The match ended 2-1 in Madrid’s favour, although they went behind first due to a goalkeeping mistake. Isco played eighty minutes of it.

He checked his phone after his post-match shower to see a slew of texts from Franco.

_They’re showing you warming up. You look so hot._

Isco laughed. A few of his teammates turned to see what was going on, but Isco ignored them. He gathered all his things and started walking out to the mixed zone while reading Franco’s texts.

_You’re almost the same height as the kid mascots, btw._

_You’re doing amazing, baby._

_And you look so hot._

_I like the way you run. It’s very…bouncy._

_And cute._

_Did I mention you look very hot?_

_God, Francisco, I wanna kiss you._

_I love you. You did amazing and I’m so proud of you._

Isco was smiling to himself as he typed the reply, _I love you too._ He felt all gooey and dizzy and so fucking _in love_ , and he was so fucking happy that Franco had spammed him with messages because it meant that he was feeling better.

Isco was so distracted he almost didn’t hear the reporter calling out to him, “Isco, do you have time for a couple questions?”

Isco stopped for him. It was instinct by then.

“How do you feel about the win today?” the reporter asked.

“Great, yeah,” Isco smiled. “The league’s not won yet and we always have to be on our toes so today’s result was great.”

“You scored a brace the last time you visited Seville to play Betis, didn’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco said. He was. Just that day filled him with utter happiness. It was the day he and Franco became official. The 15th of October. In three days, it’d be their fifth month together. “Yup. I did. But personally, scoring goals is not as important as winning. I don’t mind not scoring today but us winning, anyway.”

“How do you feel about playing against and beating the team whose fans booed your boyfriend off the pitch two weeks ago?”

Isco froze. He tried to repeat the question in his mind, but he failed.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

“Two weeks ago, the Seville derby, Franco Vazquez received a very hostile welcome from the Betis fans. About him, and you, coming out as gay. Word is that wasn’t the only attack on him by Betis fans. Real Betis has been slapped with a few charges. Are you aware of that?”

Isco didn’t respond. Well, he didn’t think he responded. Everything was just suddenly kinda a blur. They _booed_ Franco? Isco didn’t remember hearing anything about that. He didn’t remember anyone telling him anything. He didn’t remember _Franco_ telling him about it.

He stared at the reporter for a while. He wanted to ask for more information but he also couldn’t open his mouth. Franco was booed off the pitch? The Betis fans attacked him? Was that why he was so upset? Why didn't he _tell Isco_? The world began to spin around Isco.

“What?” he finally asked in a whisper.

The reporter started to talk again but Isco didn’t hear anything. He just stood there, his legs about to give way under him, wondering how it was even _possible_ that he didn’t know anything about this _at all._ He stood there hoping that this was just a dream. He’d even give away the Real Madrid win just to know that this was a dream.

\------

Alvaro heard the question from a mile away.

Okay, so he wasn’t a _mile_ away, the mixed zone was only so big, but he heard the words ‘Seville derby’ and his hairs stood on end.

He was in the exit doorway, about to enter the mixed zone. He glanced around and quickly found Isco, who was looking dazed as a reporter was speaking to him.

Alvaro marched right up to him and grabbed him by the back of his polo collar.

“Sorry, gotta go,” he told the reporter as he dragged Isco away.

He let go of Isco when they were out the main exit and into the chilly night. Isco looked like he could walk again, so Alvaro took a few steps ahead of him, but Isco didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at the ground a few feet ahead of him.

“What did he say?” Alvaro asked, while in his head begging profusely, _nothing. Tell me he said nothing. He didn’t tell you anything at all. Tell me he didn’t say anything._

Isco slowly turned and placed his eyes on Alvaro’s face. They were cold and dark and. And Alvaro had never seen Isco that way. He didn’t look…angry. He just looked calm. Which was even scarier.

“Isco, what did he say?” Alvaro asked, at the very same moment Isco uttered the words, “The Seville derby.”

Alvaro went silent. Isco continued staring at him.

“Did you know about it?” Isco asked.

Fuck, Alvaro was in huge fucking trouble.


	32. Wish I Had Known That What Seemed So Strong Has Been And Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 1973 by James Blunt.

Isco knew Alvaro was guilty when he didn’t speak for ten entire seconds.

Isco swivelled on his heel and walked towards the parking lot. It took him ten minutes to find his car even though it was literally parked next to a sign that read “Isco Alarcon 22.” Then it took him another five minutes to figure out he couldn’t open the door because he hadn’t unlocked his car.

How many fucking people were in on this? The _entire fucking Spain_ was in on this. Paulo was needless to say in on it as well. And Isco’s teammates – Isco didn’t even know anymore.

Alvaro grabbed his arm after all of Isco’s futile attempts to get into his car. “You can’t drive home like that,” he said softly. “I’ll drive you.”

Isco thought maybe he was feeling guilty and trying to make it up to Isco, but then he also remembered that Alvaro was a really good friend. But Isco. He didn’t really know anymore. Whatever it was, he legitimately couldn’t drive himself home, so he followed Alvaro to his car, trying not to cry.

The entire ride home was completely silent. Alvaro didn’t dare to talk. Isco didn’t want to. Neither of them reached for the stereo.

The car had barely halted when Isco opened the door and stepped out of it. He slammed the door shut and started to walk inside.

Alvaro rolled the window down and called after him. “Hey, Isco.”

Isco turned around and glared at him.

“Don’t be mad at Franco.”

Isco turned back without replying and made it inside his front hallway before he burst into tears.

He wasn’t even mad. Isco wasn’t even mad at Franco. He wasn't mad at _anyone._ He was just. He didn’t know what to feel. He curled up on himself against the door and started sobbing really loudly because the babysitter had texted on the way home that she had to leave and Isco had told her it was fine because he was five minutes away. He clapped a hand over his mouth so Junior wouldn’t be awoken.

A text from Franco lit up his phone. _You home?_

 _Yeah,_ Isco managed to type through his tears. He couldn’t just cut Franco off. He couldn’t bring himself to.

_Have a good rest. I love you._

Isco didn’t reply. He just put his phone on the floor and slid it away so he couldn’t see it. He sat on the dirty welcome mat just. Just thinking. He wasn't even sure what he was thinking about because he didn't come to any sort of conclusion at all.

He eventually got up and checked on Junior before he took a long, long shower. A hot shower. To wash off all the fucking dirt he felt on his body. Then he retrieved his phone from the living room floor and went back to his room, sitting at the work table in front of his laptop. He sighed. The clock read 11.48.

He turned on his laptop and opened the browser. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a couple minutes before he dared to type the words ‘Franco Vazquez.’

The top hits all read similarly.

_Four Real Betis fans charged and banned for vandalism of Franco Vazquez’ car._

_Sevilla criticized for lack of security at Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán Stadium that allowed carpark trespassing._

_Real Betis issue statement regarding fan mistreatment of Franco Vazquez._

They were datestamped three days ago. Isco clicked on ‘news’ and scrolled further down.

_Franco Vazquez greeted with hostility at Estadio Benito Villamarín._

_A delicate matter: What we can learn about the Franco Vazquez situation._

_WATCH: Franco Vazquez booed off the pitch by Real Betis fans in Seville derby._

That last one caught Isco’s attention. He hovered over it for a while, unsure if he was strong enough to click on it. He wondered how he’d missed all this. It obviously made big news in the whole of Spain. Isco just. He just hadn't been paying attention to anyone other than himself.

There was a short article accompanying the video. Isco read it first.

_On Saturday, Seville made the short trip south to visit Real Betis. It was routine for the players: take the bus to the stadium, warm up, psych themselves up for the derby, and go out and play._

_It could not have been further away from routine for a certain Franco Vazquez._

_His first touch of the ball – and every following touch – was met by a chorus of boos. And it would have continued for the entire time he was on the pitch, had it not transitioned into a series of chants instead._

_The Betis fans unrolled a banner that read ‘homo Vazquez,’ as if the forward wasn't already on the verge of tears. He had been at fault for Betis’ goal. Now he was at fault for – living._

_Fortunately for the Argentine, he was substituted off at half-time, evidently in tears as teammate Correa shielded him from the fans. Sevilla went on to score two goals to win the match._

The video started off with everyone being shocked at the boos when the ball first touched Franco’s feet. And then the subsequent passes and dribbles. Isco was sure Franco touched the ball more times than that, but the video guy probably got tired of finding every instance.

Betis’ goal was also shown. Franco had opened the hole in the wall and allowed the ball to scrape past him so the goalkeeper couldn't reach it. And he was obviously frustrated after the goal. He was yelling and his captain was trying to calm him down.

There was a nice long shot of the ‘homo Vazquez’ banner in all its fucking glory. Just. Just looking at it made Isco want to cry. He couldn't imagine what it'd been like for Franco.

Then halftime came and Franco stepped off the pitch to more booing. He was immediately embraced by Joaquin and hidden under Joaquin’s arm until he was out of sight.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Football wasn't supposed to be overshadowed by these kinds of things. Now this was all that was going to be remembered about the derby.

Isco tried looking for photos of the vandalized car but didn't manage to find any because no photos were released. Which was just as well. Isco didn't know if he could bear to look at those.

He pressed his forehead against the table and sobbed loudly into it. Franco was so brave. Franco was so fucking brave and so strong and Isco – Isco loved him more than anything in the entire world. Franco was the most humble and unassuming person Isco had ever met. He never expected anything in return for everything he felt or did. He just. He just wanted to be in control of his life.

And Isco had taken away all of that.

He got into bed with tears streaming down his cheeks and buried his head in his pillow. He couldn't _believe_ Franco hadn't told him about this. It was like. Isco understood. He understood that Franco wanted to bear the burden of it himself. But he thought – Isco thought they were way past that. He shared all his troubles with Franco. He thought Franco would do the same. That they would bear this weight together. He hated to think that Franco didn’t feel the same way.

Maybe Franco was just waiting for the right time. Maybe he’d tell Isco, eventually. When he felt comfortable. Was Isco supposed to just sit around and wait? How long was he supposed to wait?

How _stupid_ did Franco think Isco was? How long did he think he could keep this from Isco without Isco finding out on his own? Did he – did he really think Isco was so fucking dumb?

The more Isco thought about it, the angrier he got. But Isco didn't want to be angry. He didn't want to be angry at Franco or angry at himself because this was neither of their faults. Isco just. He just wanted to _understand._

He thought of calling Franco but it was already almost one in the morning when he checked, so he didn't. He didn't want to confront Franco while he was still confused, while he was still hurting, while he was still – whatever the fuck this was he was feeling. He didn't want to get into a fight and yell at this time of night.

He wondered why the treatment Franco was getting in Seville was so different from what Isco was getting in Madrid. Madrid had been more welcoming than Isco had expected. He didn't want to say it was because they were more open-minded, but – they _were_ more open-minded. Maybe it was because they were the capital. Maybe it was because Alvaro had led the way. Whatever it was, Madrid certainly did not treat Isco the way Seville was treating Franco. Madrid didn't even treat _Franco_ the way Seville treated him.

Isco sighed. He took his phone and texted Alvaro, _I'm not mad at you._

 _What are you then?_ Alvaro replied like, three seconds later, like he'd been waiting.

 _I don't know,_ Isco said.

And Isco was suddenly so tired he closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly.

\------

Isco didn't get to visit Franco the following week because Franco was in England playing the second leg of his Champions League match against Leicester. The Leicester fans didn't boo or anything, to Isco’s relief – though he later realised it must've been because Franco wasn't playing.

Seville lost in the end and got eliminated on aggregate, making it extra crappy all around. Isco watched it live on TV anyway, with Junior squealing in his lap for no reason. He texted Franco after the match to tell him he was sorry they lost.

 _It's fine,_ Franco replied.

_You deserved to win, though._

_It’s over. It’s whatever._

_I'm very proud of you._

_Thank you. I love you._

_Love you too._

Isco put his phone aside but picked it up again a few minutes later. _Franco, we need to talk,_ he typed slowly, but then backspaced. _Franco, I know about everything,_ he tried again, but decided it wasn't right. _Franco, do you have anything you want to talk about?_

He eventually did not send any of those. He put his phone aside and sighed.

Franco called him about fifteen minutes later.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh, are you busy? Did I...uh, wake you?”

“No,” Isco smiled. He was. He was so fucking _happy_ to hear Franco’s voice he momentarily forgot everything. “I'm good.”

And then he remembered – he remembered that night a little over two weeks ago when Franco had called him after the derby and Isco had told him that he’d watch the rerun on TV but Franco had said no. Isco remembered it very clearly because Franco sounded so insistent that Isco shouldn’t watch it. He told Isco he played like shit and he didn’t want Isco to watch it. Isco didn’t remember Franco ever being so insistent on something.

He remembered Franco being really quiet but staying on the phone with Isco nonetheless, just. Saying that he just wanted to know Isco was there. And Isco remembered just leaving the phone there and doing all his stuff with Junior and Bubu while Franco listened.

Isco finally understood what that phone call was all about.

“Hey,” Franco said. “You there?”

“Yeah?” Isco said, his voice wobbling. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just – just zoned out a lil bit.”

Franco gave a soft chuckle. “I was asking you when we can meet.”

“Um,” Isco said. He paused to swallow the lump in his throat. “After this weekend? I’ll go to Seville. I’ll take Junior.”

“I can go to Madrid. My match is in Madrid. Against Atletico.”

“We can travel to Seville together. I want Junior to see his new things.”

“Yeah? When do you have to report for Spain?”

“The twenty-second.”

“So, three days?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Cool.”

A short silence.

“Franco,” Isco said softly.

“Yeah?” Franco responded equally gently.

 _I love you_ , Isco wanted to say. _I love you and I want to know everything. I want to know how you’re feeling. I want to know everything you’re feeling in each moment of each day. I don’t know why you’re keeping this from me but I don’t want you to do it anymore. I want to know everything. I love you and I want to share all of this with you, no matter how much it hurts. And I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry that I’ve done this to you. I’m sorry that you’re in this shit because of me. I wish I could take it all away. I wish I could make it better. I wish I was better for you._

“Nothing,” was what he ended up saying.

Another brief but awkward silence.

“You still getting those shower-inducing stares?” Isco asked. Just. Just to prod a little.

“Mmhmm,” Franco mumbled. “Yeah.”

“It’s...worse over there, isn’t it?”

“You noticed?”

“Yeah.”

“It is,” Franco said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Isco whispered.

“It’s not your fault,” Franco said. He paused for a little while. “Alarcon, I love you.”

Isco smiled but he felt tears spilling down his face. “I love you, too.”

“Just...don’t think this is your fault, ‘kay?” Franco spoke in the gentlest voice which only served to make Isco cry harder. “It’s not your fault. It’s never been and it will never be.”

“Yeah?” Isco whispered.

“Promise.”

“I love you so much, Franco Vazquez. So fucking much.”

“I love you, too,” Franco said, his voice so thick it was evident he was crying.

For the next ten minutes they sat there on each side of the line, both crying their hearts out but neither of them having the guts to say why – even though it was the exact same reason. Isco knew. He knew that Franco really wanted to tell him but he also thought that he couldn’t. He knew it was hurting Franco as much as it was hurting Isco to find out. Isco felt like. He felt like his heart was breaking into a million little tiny pieces and no one was ever going to be able to put it back together again.

There was a nagging thought in Isco’s mind that he should stop being so selfish. That he shouldn’t make Franco go through all of this just because Isco wanted him around. Because Franco – Franco deserved the entire world. He deserved the entire _universe._ And if Isco couldn’t give it to him, then – then Isco had no right to want to keep him.

But that was all it remained, a thought nestled in the deepest recesses of Isco’s mind. A thought that Isco never wanted to dig up or consider. Because sometimes – sometimes, love was selfish. And Isco wanted Franco around. Maybe they just. They just needed to talk.

“I gotta go,” Isco finally said, half because he was never going to stop crying if he didn’t hang up and half because Junior had fallen asleep next to him but had begun to fuss a little because he was uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Franco whispered. There was a really soft sniffle like he’d pulled the phone away from his face to do it. “Okay. Good night. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Isco took a few deep breaths and wiped his tears on the back of his hands. He grabbed Junior and stood up. “Okay, baby,” he said softly. “Time to put on your night diaper.”

“Hmm,” was all Junior said.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Isco whispered, placing him on his changing table. “Papa loves you very much.”

Junior cracked open his eyes a tiny bit. “I love you papa.”

“Yeah?”

“Papa you are my favourite,” Junior said sleepily.

“You’re my favourite too.”

“Papa are you sad?” Junior asked. “Papa, Vazquez make you sad again?”

“Again?” Isco smiled as he wrapped Junior up in a diaper. “He doesn’t make me sad at all.”

“Why papa sad? Vazquez?”

“I’m not sad, baby,” Isco said, hoisting Junior back up and rocking him back to sleep. “Vazquez doesn’t make me sad. Ever. He makes me the happiest person on earth.”

“Okay,” Junior said, and promptly fell back asleep.

Isco put him in his cot with a sigh. He rested his elbows on the cot rails and watched Junior snuggle up against his yellow bear.

“If you’re causing someone to be hated for who they are,” Isco whispered, even though Junior couldn’t hear nor understand him. “What would you do? I know he says it’s not my fault. But if it weren’t for me...he wouldn’t be in this situation at all. He would’ve just been known as good old Mudo Vazquez. Not gay, just really quiet. He’s being made to go through all of this because of me. Doesn’t he see that? Am I good for him? Or have I made his life worse? Why won’t he talk to me? I just want him to talk to me. I’m not mad at him. I don’t think I could ever get mad at him. I don’t want to. But I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore. I just want him to talk to me and I love him no matter what but I don’t know if I’m good for him anymore.”

Junior didn’t respond, as expected. Isco wiped his tears before they could fall on him.

He curled up in the armchair across from Junior’s cot and fell asleep there because he couldn’t deal with not having another human presence in the same room. He couldn’t deal with being alone.

\------

Isco got stuck next to Alvaro on the hour-long flight back from Bilbao.

He was all set to take an hour-long nap. He’d even wrapped himself up in the blanket and curled up on his seat, the soles of his shoes planted on the seat in a way that Franco would be seething about.

Alvaro nudged him when the plane started to taxi. Isco sighed and wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself, hoping Alvaro would buzz off.

He didn’t. He reached over and tugged one of Isco’s earbuds out of his ear. “Isco,” he said.

“What?” Isco asked, annoyed.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I told you, I’m not mad at you.”

Alvaro went quiet. Isco put his earbud back in his ear and closed his eyes again.

Five seconds later, Alvaro pulled it out again. “Why won’t you talk to me, then?” he asked.

And okay, so Isco had barely spoken to Alvaro for an entire week. But he just. He hadn’t really spoken to _anybody_. He didn’t really feel like talking at all.

“What do you want me to say?” Isco asked him.

“I don’t know,” Alvaro said.

Isco rolled his eyes. He turned to look out the window, at the ground slowly retreating. It was. It was something Franco liked to do. Isco had learnt how to appreciate the world so much more because of Franco. He watched as the plane climbed the cloud layers, slowly shielding the ground from view, until the outside was only a sea of blue and white.

“Have you talked to Franco?” Alvaro asked.

“About?”

“Like, does he know that you know?”

“He doesn’t.”

A short silence.

“I’m sorry,” Alvaro said. “I couldn’t – I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell you. But, like, it’s your relationship. Not mine.”

“Yeah, I know,” Isco said. “I’m not mad. I’ve said this like, seven times.”

“Two,” Alvaro corrected.

“Whatever.”

“It’s just,” Alvaro shrugged. “Franco only wanted the best for you.”

“I know. I’m not mad at him.”

“You aren’t?”

“I’m not mad at anyone.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s just,” Isco turned back to the window when he felt tears pooling in his eyes. “I just want him to know I’m in this with him. You know? I just want him to know that he’s not alone. And it makes me sad that...that if it weren’t for me, then all of this wouldn’t have happened to him. He’s doing all of this for me. And I have nothing to give him.”

“You’re giving him your heart,” Alvaro said softly. “That’s worth more than anything else.”

“What if it’s not enough?” Isco asked.

Alvaro went quiet again. He looped his arm over Isco’s neck and pulled Isco against him, over the armrest. It was uncomfortable and the armrest was stabbing Isco in the tummy but Isco scooted closer and started crying into Alvaro’s shoulder.

“You can’t love it all away, Isco,” Alvaro whispered. “You can only love through it.”

Isco shook his head. Alvaro sighed.

“Maybe you have to talk to him,” Alvaro suggested. “You know, communicate. Because for Paulo and I – it all went downhill before because we didn’t talk to each other. You were the one who told me that, remember? You just. You need to talk to him. Okay? You two will figure this out together.”

Isco nodded. He closed his eyes and fell asleep on Alvaro’s shoulder wishing that he could love Franco out of this mess.

\------

Franco stayed in Madrid after his match against Atletico while everyone else travelled back to Seville.

He met Isco at the train station and he asked Isco for the millionth time if he’d rather stay in Madrid, because he had to report for national team duty in a couple of days in Madrid, anyway. Isco insisted that he wanted to go to Seville because Junior hadn’t seen his new room yet. Well. New part of a room. Anyway, so all three of them took the train to Seville together.

The train ride was very uncomfortably silent. It was like. Like the first few times Isco and Franco had met, and they had nothing to say to each other and Isco would come up with random topics to fill the silences. Except that now Isco wasn’t even trying.

Franco distracted himself with the darkness outside the train window. It was already in the evening when they caught the train, and the countryside was almost completely dark save for the streetlights lighting the way for the train. There were a couple of stars in the sky. Junior fidgeted in Franco’s lap as he tried to find a comfortable position to play with his toys in. Isco watched him. He didn’t say anything. Just watched, like he was merely going through the motions of being a parent.

When they were an hour and a half away from Seville, Isco finally spoke.

“Tell me about space,” he said.

So Franco did. He told Isco about time travel and wormholes. When that led to a conversation about four-dimensional space-time, Isco wanted to hear about that so Franco elaborated even though it was all physics and Isco was confused. Isco listened to every word. Every single word.

They had dinner near the train station and took a cab to Franco’s place. Isco went ahead inside with a dozing Junior while Franco paid the driver and grabbed all their things.

Franco’s car was parked in its usual lot next to the street lamp, but something caught Franco’s eye as he walked past it.

There was white spray paint on the front hood of the newly-repaired black car, with scratches accompanying them, like the culprit had scratched them in first but realised they weren’t really visible so he added the spray paint over them. They read three big, block letters.

F A G.

Franco felt his blood freeze in his veins. He turned to the building and saw the lights in his windows turn on. Isco was. Isco was right there. And the car was right here.

Franco unlocked the car and dug in the boot for the car cover. His hands were shaking so hard they were practically useless, and he tried to put the car cover on but it kept slipping off and Franco started fucking _crying_ and he just kept wishing that Isco wouldn’t come outside.

But Isco did, around five minutes later when Franco hadn’t gone inside yet. He came outside and stood next to the bags that Franco had put on the ground, and he curiously watched Franco struggle with the car cover for a couple seconds before he asked, scaring Franco into a little jump, “What are you doing?”

“Just, uh,” Franco stammered, scrambling not only for words but also to put the fucking car cover on properly. “Covering...the car.”

“Why?”

“It’s gonna rain.”

“You never cover your car when it rains,” Isco said, taking a few steps towards the car and Franco. “And it’s not going to rain.”

“No – hey, go back inside, okay?” Franco said.

“I’ll help you,” Isco said, taking the other two sides of the car cover and – and fucking walking to the front of the car.

He stopped when he saw the big white letters on the front hood. He stared at them for a while and then swallowed hard before taking another step towards them and examining the scratches. He turned to Franco and Franco had nothing to say.

Isco covered the front of the car without a word so Franco could do the same to the back. He didn’t say anything as they picked up the bags and walked inside. Then when they were in the front hallway, Isco asked, “Is this the first time?”

Franco nodded without a thought. Isco stared at him for a while, and then turned away.

“You wanna call the police or something?” he asked.

“I'll call the repair people tomorrow morning.”

“You sure? You don't wanna report this?”

“It's okay,” Franco said. He didn't want to make this a whole big matter again and then Isco would find out about everything else.

“Okay,” Isco said quietly.

Junior was awake, having taken a short nap on the way. Isco and Franco brought him to his new cot and he got really happy, clapping and squealing and hugging Franco tightly.

“You like it, huh?” Franco smiled from where he sat, on the solar system rug, as Junior skittered around him. “Yeah?”

“I very like it, Vazquez!”

“You wanna see your potty? Yeah? I'll take you to see your potty.”

And Junior squealed an agreement so Franco brought him to the guest bathroom where there was the tiny baby blue potty Franco had bought. Junior went straight to it, opened the lid, pulled his pants down, and started to pee.

Isco started laughing from behind Franco, where he'd been hovering. Franco took a step back and found Isco’s hand, which he held.

“I've cleaned it,” Franco said.

Isco smiled. He gazed up at Franco and gave Franco’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks.”

Franco kissed him on his soft lips, but then had to let him go because Junior had finished peeing and had no idea what to do after that. Isco took off all of Junior’s clothes, then his own, then asked Franco to do the same so they could all get in the shower together.

Then Junior decided he’d like to play with some of his new toys, those that Franco had bought for him and stored in a little box next to his cot. So they sat with him as he took all of them out and put them in a row, naming them names he'd probably forget the next day.

Franco taught him to name the planets on the rug. At the end of the night Junior could only say ‘Mars.’ Franco was contented.

He fell asleep after Franco rocked him around a little, so Franco tucked him into his new cot with a soft toy he was hugging. Isco gave him a kiss on the head and held on to Franco’s hand as they watched him sleep for a while.

“He's the cutest.” Franco whispered.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “Not me?”

“You're both the cutest.”

“You gotta choose one.”

“No.”

So that was that. They went outside and cuddled on the couch quietly, watching a documentary about birds.

The credits had begun scrolling when Isco suddenly asked, “Why are you lying to me?”

Franco stared at the top of Isco’s head for a while, wondering if his biggest nightmare was coming true. He wrapped his hand around the back of Isco’s head and lifted it so he could see Isco’s face. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Your car. It was ruined after your match against Bilbao, wasn’t it? Today isn’t the first time.”

Franco swallowed hard. His eyes darted fervently across the room, landing on everything but Isco.

“And you lied to me when I asked you what happened to your car. You told me the engine wouldn’t start. That wasn’t true, was it? It was at the mechanic because people fucked it up.”

“I’m sorry,” Franco whispered.

Isco shook his head. He turned his face down towards his lap as he moved away from Franco. “I just. I don’t want you to apologise. I just want to know why. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“And the Seville derby?” Isco asked without looking up. His voice had become thick like he was crying. “Yeah, I know about that, too.”

“How did you know about it?”

“The entire fucking Spain knows about it, Franco!” Isco said the loudest he could without yelling. “Everyone except me!”

Then he stood up and stormed into the bedroom, leaving Franco alone on the couch.

Franco turned the TV and lights off and hurried after Isco. He was sitting on Franco’s bed, the far end of it, his back facing the door. His shoulders heaved gently with sobs.

Franco climbed into bed behind him and just. Just sat there. He didn’t know what to say. Or what to do. For all the worrying he’d done, he’d never actually prepared for this day.

The silence lasted for five whole minutes. It felt like five hours to Franco.

“I’m not mad at you,” Isco finally said, sobbing, without turning around. “I don’t want to be mad at you. I just. I wanna know why. Franco. Why? Why did you feel like...like you couldn’t tell me? Is it because you don’t trust me?”

“No,” Franco said softly, his voice getting caught in his throat. “No. I trust you, Isco. I trust you more than anyone else ever.”

“Then why?”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Franco said. “It’s...it’s so peaceful up there in Madrid. It’s different here. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to go through the same thing as me. Because this...they were targeting me. Not you. And it was going to stay that way. I just – your life is going so great. It’s going so great, Alarcon, I don’t want to take that away.”

“My life is your life, too,” Isco mumbled. “Just like your life is also mine. Don’t you see that? That’s what couples do. We share things. You don’t have to be upset by yourself. You don’t have to be _anything_ by yourself. You are – Franco. I hate that I made you go through all of this. I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t tell all of this to me. I hate that all these people can’t see you for the kind, intelligent, beautiful person that you really are. And I hate that this is all because of me.”

“But it’s not,” Franco sobbed. “It’s not because of you.”

“If I were totally out of this entire equation, then all of this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Alarcon. See? This is why I didn't tell you. You'll say things like that. It's not your fault at all. Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s like you told me. Remember? The day we got together. You told me you didn’t make me fall in love with you. _That_ is the truth. I chose you, I chose you over and over again. I chose to be with you even though I knew things like these would happen. And now they are. And I’m taking them like I should. I would do anything, Alarcon. _Anything._ If it meant you were safe.”

Isco hung his head, his shoulders heaving more heavily. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know you anymore, Franco.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s just, this was such a big part of your life, Franco. It was – it ruined your life. And I found out about it from a fucking _reporter_. I found out that I caused all this chaos in your life and I just kept continuing to do it without knowing. Were you going to tell me? Franco. Were you going to tell me yourself?”

“I was,” Franco whispered. “When it all died down. I didn’t want it to be something so big. I just. We could just laugh over it like it was nothing. I wanted to wait it out. Because I don’t want you to hurt the way I’m hurting.”

Isco turned around. He finally turned around and he looked Franco right in the eye with his puffy red wet ones.

“But I want to,” he said, slowly crawling towards Franco, his hand landing on Franco’s chest, where Franco’s heart was, and then gently moving upwards until he was cupping Franco’s cheek. He leaned in and pressed his lips softly on Franco’s. “I want to feel every single thing you’re feeling. I want to feel every twinge of sadness and every burst of happiness. I want to feel all the hurt and all the humiliation, all the excitement and the curiosity. I want to feel all of it. And it hurts me that you don’t want to share all of it with me.”

Franco let his lips crash against Isco’s again, their tears mixing as did their sobs, as did their tongues. The next few minutes was just. Just violent, sloppy making out.

Isco was the first to pull away, though he pressed his forehead on Franco’s. He gave a sound which was a cross between a sigh and a sob. He gently twirled Franco’s hair around his fingers.

Then he stood up and left the room.

Franco followed him, worried he was going to leave. Isco walked into the guestroom, where Junior was sleeping – but he didn’t grab his bags or anything, just sat down on the bed again, facing Junior.

Franco stopped next to the bed. He didn’t sit down. He wasn’t sure if Isco wanted him to.

“Do I make you happy?” Isco asked in the softest whisper.

“Of course you do. I love you.”

“That’s different, isn’t it?” Isco said, looking down at his lap. “It’s not the same thing.”

“It is to me.”

“Look at yourself, Franco,” Isco said, more loudly this time. “Look at what I’ve done to you. Remember how upset you were the last time I was here? Do you? Because I do. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. And I thought, I so stupidly thought that you were just feeling down and that you’d be up again soon. I thought that you would come to me if there was something serious. To think that – to think that it was all because of me this whole time. I made all of this happen and I still stupidly stuck by you like it’d make things better.”

“But it did,” Franco sobbed. He climbed on the bed and knelt behind Isco. “Alarcon, you always make things better. Are you mad at me? You’re mad at me. Just tell me the truth. I’m sorry, Isco. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” Isco’s voice subsided to a softer volume. “Just. Just sad.”

“I’m sorry,” Franco leaned over and wrapped Isco in a big hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

Isco shook his head. “I know why you didn’t tell me. I understand. I’m not...it’s not about that at all. It’s just – it’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault either. Please don’t think this is your fault. It’s not you, it’s – it’s them. Don’t you see? They’re the ones who are not okay with it. It doesn’t matter what we do. They won’t be happy. But I love you and I want to be with you no matter what they say. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Franco,” Isco whispered. He wrapped his hands tightly around Franco’s forearm. “I’m not good enough for you.”

“Don’t say that. _Don’t say that._ It’s not true.”

“I’m not enough for you.”

“You are. Isco. Isco Alarcon. You are enough for me. You’re more than enough.”

“I can’t make you happy.”

“You do,” Franco sobbed. He was. He was desperate for Isco to see what Franco saw. “You make me so happy and I love you and I want to be with you forever.”

“I just,” Isco sighed. “I came here...I wanted to come here because I wanted Junior to see his new things. And I wanted to hang out here. In Seville. Your home. But then the car –”

“Fuck the car.”

“– the car just made me see that...that I can’t give you anything. Franco, you’ve given me so much. Look at this room. Look at me. Look at all you’ve done for me. Everything. Franco, you’ve given me _everything._ And in return, I – I can’t even give you one good thing.”

“I’m not asking for anything,” Franco said. “Please. You don’t have to give me anything or do anything for me. I don’t want anything. I just want you around.”

“I can’t love all of this shit away,” Isco sobbed, waving one of his hands around. “I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“I made your life like this,” Isco whispered. “Look at you. I’ve changed you so much and I shouldn’t have. You’re perfect just the way you are and you’ve done so much shit for me, and I –“

“Stop saying that. Just stop saying that, okay? None of it is true.”

“I’ve ruined your life, Franco.”

“You haven’t. Isco. I love you so fucking much. Nothing else matters at all as long as I have you.”

“Don’t you want more?” Isco asked. “Don’t you want...happiness?”

“I already have it. I’m holding it right now.”

Isco shook his head. “That’s not – I can’t make you happy.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” Franco said softly. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on Isco’s shoulder. “Look. Alarcon. Listen to me. These people...they can’t tell us what to do with our relationship. It’s _our_ relationship. We decide what to do with it. They can’t just come around and tell you that you don’t make me happy. That you ruined my life. Because you _didn’t_. _They_ did. This relationship is ours, Alarcon. It’s ours. Don’t let it...become theirs.”

Isco started sobbing again and Franco held him tight, hoping he could put all of Isco’s pieces back together just like Isco had done for him. He wished he could take all of this away. He wished for it as much as Isco wished for it. He wished Isco knew. He wished Isco knew that Franco would be _nothing_ without him.

“Franco,” Isco finally whispered, a welcome sound in all the silence.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“What?” Franco asked, barely able to find his voice. His heart had fallen to the ground and buried itself in a hole. “Why? What do you mean?”

“I can’t be with you.”

“Why?”

“I want to give you...so many things, Franco. I want to give you the world. But I can’t. I can’t even give you this one thing. I can’t even give you peace.”

“Isco.”

“I love you, you know?” Isco turned and ran his finger down Franco’s hairline. “You’re so fucking perfect and I love you. But sometimes...sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes the people you love...you just aren’t good enough for them. And I’m not good enough for you. You deserve so much better than me and I don’t want to be selfish. Franco. Trust me, you’ll be better without me.”

“I won’t,” Franco sobbed. “Please. You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do this.”

Isco kissed Franco gently on the lips, soft and tender and bittersweet. “You’ll understand,” he whispered.

But Franco wasn’t sure he would. Fuck that, he _knew_ he wouldn’t. He just sat there, shaking under Isco’s gentle touch, not knowing what exactly the fuck to do. He chased after Isco’s – usually bright, but now the saddest shade of brown – eyes and searched in them for answers but didn’t find any.

Isco finally pulled away and stood up. He walked over to Junior’s cot and stood there for a while, his shoulders shuddering as he watched Junior sleep. He leaned over and gently pulled Junior’s thumb out of his mouth.

Franco walked over slowly and stood next to him. He put his hand on top of Isco’s on the cot rail but Isco pulled it away.

“What about him?” Franco whispered. He closed his eyes. “I mean, I know we’re not related, and –”

“You can see him anytime,” Isco said. _He can make you happy. I can’t, but he can._

A long silence. They just stood there, not touching, but the heat between their bodies so intense that Franco almost combusted. The gap between their hands was – it was small, but it was also cavernous. Just like the gap between Isco and Franco’s minds.

Isco went and sat on the bed again once he tore himself away from the cot. He was gazing sadly at Franco when Franco turned.

“I’ll sleep here for the night,” he said softly.

Then he crawled under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, curling on his side and closing his eyes. Like he was trying to tell Franco that he wanted to be alone.

Franco padded his way to the door softly, switching the room light off before shutting the door. He turned to take one last look at Isco through the door as it closed, the soft hallway light casting a sliver of orange on Isco. Isco had craned his neck around to watch Franco leave, but upon realising that Franco was looking at him, quickly lay back down in his original position.

Franco stood there for ten whole silent seconds but Isco didn’t move again.

He closed the door and went back to his own room. He sat on his bed and just. Just started crying again. He didn’t know what else to do. He felt sick to the stomach and he was crying so much his head had started to throb. He crawled under the covers but they were too warm and Franco couldn’t breathe while lying down so he got up again and paced the room.

Part of Franco knew Isco was right. If it weren’t for Isco, Franco would never have been in this situation. But Isco – Isco was also _wrong._ Isco made Franco the happiest man in the entire universe. Isco was Franco’s favourite. He was Franco’s _everything_. Isco had given Franco so much more than Franco had ever asked for. He had given Franco time and effort and understanding and so, so much fun. He had given Franco his love and that was everything Franco had ever wanted or needed.

But Isco didn’t know that. Isco thought this was for Franco’s benefit but – it wasn’t. Isco had never been more wrong in his life but he wouldn’t _listen to Franco._ This wasn’t just Isco’s decision to make. It was also Franco’s. But Isco wasn’t fucking _listening._

Franco paced out of the room and to the kitchen, where he gulped down an entire glass of water at one go. He stepped into the living room and made a few rounds around the couch, clenching and unclenching his fists and trying not to choke on all his sobs.

He eventually made his way back to the guestroom and let himself inside. Isco was still in bed in the same position, curled up facing the window, through which the warm yellow streetlights were filtering dimly. Franco shut the door and went over to Junior’s cot, led only by the streetlights casting on the ground.

He gently picked Junior up and managed to put Junior over his shoulder without waking him up. He hugged Junior tightly against him as he walked softly around the room, trying not to sob out loud. He buried his tear-stained face into Junior’s side. Junior smelled like. He smelled like home. He smelled like familiarity and he smelled a little like Isco, and he smelled like a place Franco wanted to be every day of his life.

Junior’s onesie was all twisted to the side so Franco straightened it. It made Junior stir and open his eyes a little, and Franco hoped that in the darkness of the room he wouldn’t see Franco crying.

Thankfully, he didn’t. He just took a look at who was carrying him and recognised Franco either by sight or by scent, and then buried his head into Franco’s neck and wrapped his tiny chubby arms around it.

“Vazquez,” he murmured sleepily.

“Hey,” Franco whispered. “Hi.”

“Hi Vazquez,” Junior said, a little bit more loudly.

“Shhh,” Franco smiled, but he felt tears spilling out of his eyes again, like water overflowing a dam. “Shhh.”

Junior went quiet again. He gave a little sigh and pressed his cheek against Franco’s shoulder, looking like it was the most comfortable place he’d ever slept on.

“I love you,” Franco whispered – the first time he had ever said those words to Junior. He squeezed his eyes closed and forced the lump back down his throat. “You know that? I love you so much.”

Then he had to pry Junior’s arms off him and put Junior back in his cot. Franco was in luck, because Junior didn’t fuss or anything, just snuggled back into his soft, warm surroundings.

Franco wiped his tears and went to the door. He was about to walk out of it but caught sight of Isco again, just lying there, curled up like a tiny shrivelled bean. And Franco just. Franco just wanted to hold him.

So he closed the door again and walked over to the bed, climbing in behind Isco. Gingerly at first, because he wasn’t sure if Isco would push him away.

Franco lay down about an inch away from Isco for a while, just staring at the back of Isco’s head. He watched Isco’s shoulders heave up and down like he was crying. He inched closer and closer until his front was pressing against Isco’s back. Then he wrapped his arms tightly around Isco and felt Isco melt into him gratefully, taking Franco’s hands and pulling Franco closer to him.

They didn’t speak. Not even a single word. Just lay there all wrapped up together, sobbing in unison, disregarding the fact that Franco had snuck in some cuddles with Junior and the fact that Isco had been pretending to be asleep and had actually heard everything.

They didn’t speak, just closed their eyes, both knowing exactly why they were sobbing so hard but neither wanting to admit it aloud. They’d never needed to say even a single word to know what each other needed. And at that point of time, it was just to be held. Nothing else but to be held like it was the last time either of them were going to get the chance.


	33. Do You Like The Person You've Become?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> So...sorry for freaking you guys out (honestly!! You guys freaked me out more with all the yelling), I'm sorry I can't reply to all your comments because I just don't know what to say without spoiling this entire thing, but I just want you all to know that I really appreciate all of them and all of you. Thank you for staying with me through to the end, I hope I won't disappoint :)
> 
> Title is from Weight of Living, Part II by Bastille.

When Franco woke up the next morning, the guestroom was empty.

Isco was no longer in his arms. Junior was no longer in his cot.

The space in Franco’s closet reserved especially for Isco was no longer filled with all of Isco’s things.

Franco went back to the guestroom bed and lay down on his back in the middle of it, wondering if he’d woken up in an alternate universe. It would be a less painful explanation.

The pillow next to the one Franco was sleeping on still smelled like Isco. Franco took it back with him to his own room and slept for another two hours hugging it.

When he woke up again, it was eleven am and he was still alone.

There was a text from Isco. Just one single text.

_I brought Junior to_ _Málaga. Thanks for letting us stay the night._

Franco curled his fingers around his phone. He’d lost control again. With Isco, Franco just – Franco just kept losing control, over and over again. And Franco had never minded. He would gladly relinquish all control to Isco. But this time just – this time it left a bitter taste in Franco’s mouth. This was one thing he wanted to lose less than he wanted to lose control. Isco was one thing Franco would gladly lose control for – only if it meant that he _didn’t lose Isco_ in the process.

He threw the phone across the room. It bounced off the calendar on the wall with a loud smack and landed intact on the ground, but face-down. The screen was probably shattered. Franco didn’t care.

Franco went outside still hugging the pillow in his arms. He opened the fridge and got out some vegetables and eggs, and he got out the half-finished bag of rice, but before he could start cooking he burst into tears for no reason so he left everything on the kitchen counter and went out into the living room to sit down.

When he passed the hallway, he saw his spare key – the one that he’d given to Isco – lying on the table.

Franco just. He just collapsed on the floor crying, shoving his face in the pillow and flooding his nose with Isco’s scent. He sat there in the hallway leaning against the wall and he just cried and cried and he thought he’d run out of tears but he was wrong. He missed Isco. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since he woke up but he missed Isco. And it wasn’t the usual kind of pining, the gentle tugging at Franco’s heart. It was a violent snatching of Franco’s heart through his ribs, breaking every one of them. It was the kind of yearning that came with the knowledge that _it was never going to happen again._

Every part of this house reminded him of Isco. Franco wanted to burn it down, he wanted to sit there and watch the four walls burn down around him, and he wanted to burn along with them until he was a pile of ashes and could no longer feel a thing.

He drifted back into full consciousness when he heard his phone buzzing loudly on the ground. It was a really annoying sound but well, at least it was working. Franco stumbled to his feet but they couldn’t support him so he crawled to the room with three limbs because the fourth was still holding that Isco-scented pillow.

It was Matias who was calling. Franco hit the call button.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Hey,” Joaquin said after a short surprised pause. “It’s me. I’m with Mati. We’re cooking lunch and we might’ve cooked too much. You wanna join us?”

“No,” Franco said.

“Uh. Why?”

“I can’t,” Franco whispered. “I just. I can’t.”

Joaquin seemed to pick up that Franco was upset. Which actually shouldn’t have been too difficult, because Franco was practically sobbing into the phone. “We’ll bring the food over,” he suggested.

Franco didn’t reply. Well, he didn’t _really_ reply. He just mumbled something that he couldn’t even make out himself, then he hung up the phone.

He checked his screen and saw three long cracks diverging from the top left corner. They trailed halfway across the screen diagonally.

Franco sighed and struggled all the way to his bed. He curled up in it and just. Just lay there, feeling so fucking drained. He could just lie there for the rest of his life. Franco didn't mind that at all.

Unfortunately, his self-loathing session was interrupted by the doorbell.

Franco hugged the Isco pillow to the door and opened it before the thought that it might be Isco coming back had a chance to register itself. Which was just as well, because it was Matias and Joaquin who were outside, carrying two pots and a plate. They looked a little afraid to see Franco. Franco wasn't surprised. He probably looked like a fucking piece of crap.

He gestured for them to come inside using his free arm. They glanced furtively at each other, and then walked cautiously past Franco and put all the food on the kitchen counter. Franco went and sat on the couch.

Matias joined him soon after, sitting gingerly next to Franco like he was afraid Franco would disintegrate if he were too rough. “What happened?” he asked softly.

Franco shrugged.

“Weren't you meeting Isco – weren't you meeting him yesterday?” Matias asked, quickly correcting his words when Franco winced at the sound of Isco’s name. “Did something happen? Did someone bother you?”

Franco shook his head. “We broke up,” he whispered, and then shut his eyes as tears started to fall out of them again. He pushed his head into the pillow, in the opening of the pillowcase.

And Joaquin had come back outside with two plates of food for Matias and Franco, but he stopped in his tracks a few feet from the couch. Franco felt the both of them exchange another glance over him, before Joaquin put the plates down on the coffee table and sat down on Franco’s other side.

“What happened?” Matias asked.

“He knows about everything,” Franco whispered.

“And what did he say?”

“He said he wasn't good enough for me,” Franco sobbed. “And that he couldn't make me happy. And he said he couldn't be with me because I've given him so much and he can't even give me one thing. Then this morning when I woke up, he was gone. He took his son and all his things and he left his key and he's gone.”

Matias and Joaquin stayed quiet for a long time. A couple minutes, maybe.

“Was he mad?” Joaquin asked.

Franco shook his head. “He was just. He was just – he just thought he wasn't good enough. But he is. You know that? He's the best and I love him and I just –”

“Okay,” Matias said. He tried to take the pillow from Franco but Franco refused to give it to him. “Yeah. Yeah, we understand.”

Joaquin tried to hug Franco but he was rubbing all over the pillow and he was going to stink it up so Franco shoved him aside. “Don't stink up my pillow.”

“Isco probably slept on it,” Franco heard Matias whisper really softly over Franco’s shoulder, accompanied afterwards by a clasp of his hands next to his cheek like he was miming someone sleeping. At least he understood but God, Joaquin was so fucking dense.

Joaquin picked up one of the food-laden plates and held it near Franco. “Have some food.”

“Don't get food on my pillow,” Franco said.

Joaquin sighed. He put the food back down and grabbed Franco’s arm to pull the pillow out of it. He succeeded and stood up with it. “I'll take this inside. You have to eat something. You can't keep sniffing and hugging this pillow. All the scent is going to be gone in a few hours.”

“Don't get your smelly scent on it,” Franco said.

“I won't,” Joaquin said, and he didn't even sound mad. He held the pillow with his thumb and finger by the corner of its pillowcase, at arm’s length. “See? I'm touching as little of it as I can.”

Matias gave a little chuckle but stopped when he saw Franco wasn't entertained. He took the plate of food and handed it to Franco. Franco took it.

“I'll put it on your bed,” Joaquin called from the room.

When no one responded to him, he came back out without the pillow. He got himself a plate of food and sat next to Franco again.

Franco poked around his plate as the other two started eating. It was some penne arrabiata with stir-fried vegetables and beef stew. Franco had no appetite at all. He poked a straight line of holes in one of his penne pieces with his fork. It broke apart and straightened into a flat piece of pasta. Franco shoved it in his mouth. His jaw hurt when he tried to chew.

Franco didn't know what had come over him. He wasn't usually like that. He didn't cry in front of people, much less have a complete mental breakdown. So maybe Isco had been right. He’d completely changed Franco.

Franco hated to think that was true. Because it wasn't.

“What are you up to today?” Matias asked when Franco was finally done with his food. Which took like, an hour. Joaquin had had three servings and Matias two.

Franco shrugged. His family was going to be in Italy for the next week and Franco had been planning to go visit them while Isco was on international break. He guessed he could make an early trip. But he couldn’t be bothered to say all of this out loud.

Joaquin and Matias didn’t press him for an answer. Instead, they turned on the PlayStation and started to play FIFA, Matias getting bullied into using Boca Juniors while Joaquin took River Plate. Franco curled up on his side when Joaquin shifted to the floor. He watched them play and listened to them bicker and yell profanities at each other before making up at the end of the game.

Joaquin offered Franco the controller when Franco sat up. Franco waved it away. He told them he was going to get some drinks for everyone, and then escaped to the kitchen.

Franco sighed as he got the bottle of orange juice out of the fridge. His arms felt weak. His – his whole body felt weak. Franco just wanted to lie down and sleep for a long time but he also didn’t want to be alone so he appreciated his friends being there.

He brought two glasses of juice outside first because he didn’t think he could carry all three without spilling everything. He sat back down on the couch with his own glass and watch them start another game, Sevilla vs Betis. He found himself laughing when Matias had control of in-game Joaquin and intentionally passed it to in-game Matias to score the winning goal, and seemed super proud of himself.

Matias and Joaquin looked overjoyed to hear Franco laugh. They put the controllers down and Joaquin shifted back on the couch.

“You wanna talk about it?” Matias asked.

Franco shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How do you feel?”

“I just,” Franco shrugged again, then sighed. “How could he just do this? How could he just decide that he isn’t ‘good enough’ for me or ‘enough’ for me at all, on his own? Don’t I get a say in that?”

“Yeah, let it out,” Joaquin said softly.

“And I’m –” Franco started sobbing again. “He makes me so fucking happy but he said he doesn’t. Don’t I get to decide that too? He doesn’t know how happy he makes me. He makes me feel like. Like I’m on top of the fucking world. And he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t. It makes me feel like – like I never said it enough. You know? Is it because I’ve never told him? Is it because he thinks that...that I don’t cherish him? Because I never let him know how much he truly meant? I should have said it more. I should have told him every day, but I didn’t, and now he’s gone.”

“I don’t think he thinks that you don’t cherish him,” Matias said gently. “He just...I guess he just thinks this is for your own good.”

“But it isn’t. I’m fucking miserable and I miss him.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” Joaquin said, hesitantly like he was trying his hardest not to be insulting or anything. “Maybe...maybe you guys just need some time. Some time away from each other. You know, for everything to die down. For your head to clear. To set your priorities straight. And then maybe, next time, you guys will get the chance again.”

“It’s our relationship, isn’t it?” Franco whispered. “It’s mine and his. It’s not the fucking Betis fans’.”

“Mmhmm,” Matias said.

“He’ll see that,” Joaquin added.

“He doesn't just get to say all of this on his own,” Franco sobbed. “He doesn't. He _doesn't._ ”

“Are you mad at him?” Matias asked.

“I don't know,” Franco put his glass on the table and curled up on the couch, completely ignoring the fact that he was getting all up in Joaquin’s personal space. “I don't know.”

“Okay,” Joaquin said softly. He placed his palm on Franco’s forehead. “You're a little warm.”

“I'll get some water,” Matias said, then scurried away and returned with a big glass of water and a straw. Franco emptied it in four seconds.

“Do you think I’ll ever get him back?” Franco whispered.

“I really hope so,” Joaquin said earnestly, and the last thing Franco remembered before he closed his eyes for the next forty-five minutes was the look of pure encouragement and support on both Joaquin and Matias’ faces. That, he thought, should be enough to drive him through whatever it was he needed to deal with.

\------

Isco left for the international break feeling utterly miserable.

Part of him thought maybe he’d made a huge fucking mistake. Maybe neither he nor Franco deserved an ending like this.

But then again, maybe it was what they needed.

Anyway, after Isco deposited Junior at Málaga he went straight back to Madrid and just. Just hung around Alvaro like an annoying wasp. Paulo wasn’t around because he had his own international matches to prepare for, so Alvaro was free to be bothered by Isco.

Isco’s first mistake was just hovering and not talking. At all. Because Isco not talking was some sort of miracle of the universe. So Alvaro saw through it quickly.

His second mistake was to burst into tears the instant Alvaro mentioned Franco.

It was the night before they were due to report for international duty. Isco was having dinner at Alvaro’s because he was too lazy to cook and – and it wasn’t like he had someone hanging around his house ready to be at his beck and call any longer. He didn’t have that. Not anymore.

“What the fuck is happening right now?” Alvaro asked in disbelief as Isco sobbed into his bowl of pasta. In Alvaro’s defense, all he did was merely mention that Paulo had brought up the whole double date thing again.

Isco continued shoveling spoonfuls of pasta into his mouth, thinking that maybe if he tried to choke himself then he would stop crying. “Nothing,” he said through all of it.

Alvaro carefully lifted his spoon to his mouth and ate a mouthful of food. “I have two questions,” he said after swallowing.

“What?”

“Number one, do you want to talk about it? And if yes, number two, can I call Paulo so he can hear it too?”

“Fuck off,” Isco sobbed.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Isco ignored him. He took his bowl of pasta to the couch and sat there crying into it. He just. He felt horrible. He felt like there was a sort of dread pulling him deeper into the ground with every second.

Alvaro eventually made his way over after finishing his food. Isco had only eaten like, two pieces.

“Did he hurt you?” Alvaro asked softly.

“He didn’t, Alvaro!” Isco yelled without intending to. “You have to stop fucking thinking Franco is...whoever you’ve made him out to be. He’s not! He’s the most amazing and the most caring person, he’s the gentlest and he would _never_ even hurt a fucking _ant,_ okay, Alvaro? You’ve got to – you’ve got to stop thinking he’s the bad guy because he’s never fucking been!”

And then Isco – Isco didn’t really know what had gotten into him but he put his half-eaten pasta on the table and stood up angrily. He took off his t-shirt and shorts and gave a 360-degree twirl with his arms stretched out, wearing nothing but his underwear. Alvaro looked a mixture of horrified and amused, though the latter was more cleverly hidden.

“See?” Isco demanded. “Not a mark. Not a single mark. He doesn’t _hurt_ people, Morata! He’s not that kind of person, he doesn’t hurt people – _people hurt him_ because he’s so kind and so perfect. People like me. He’s perfect and I love him so much and I – I hurt him. I’m the one who hurt him, Alvaro. I’ve hurt him over and over again and he’s stuck by my side regardless of everything. I love him and I miss him and I just – I just need someone to tell me that this isn’t a mistake. That I didn’t make a mistake.”

Isco curled up in the far corner of the couch from Alvaro, shaking not because he was practically naked but. But just because. The enormity of what he’d done had just all fallen on him at once.

Alvaro shimmied over to him and put a hand on his ankle. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Will you tell me what happened?”

Isco took a deep, snivelling breath. He sat up and Alvaro threw his clothes at him telling him to put them on, so he did.

“I went to Seville last weekend,” Isco started. “And when we reached Franco’s place, his car was – it was vandalised. Again. And it was pretty obvious he didn’t want me to see it, and I asked him if it was the first time and he lied and said yes, it was. So later that night I asked him...I asked him why he was lying to me, and I told him I knew everything and I asked him why he never told me. He said he didn’t want me to hurt like he was hurting. That they were targeting him, not me, and he wanted it to stay that way. He said my life was going perfect and he didn’t want to disrupt it.

“Then I said...I said that I wanted to be a part of his life, too. That our lives...they’re one. You know? His life is mine and my life is his. And I told him that...that maybe, if I were out of the picture, then he wouldn’t hurt so much. Because all of this crap – it was all because of me. Because of our relationship. So – I can’t make him happy, Alvaro. I can’t. I can’t be...I can’t ever be enough for him. I told him that, and...and I told him I couldn’t do this anymore. And he cried and I cried and it was a mess, and he begged me not to do this but – but I did, and now he’s gone and I feel like the crappiest person on earth.”

Alvaro stayed silent for a really, really long time.

“So you want me to tell you that you didn’t make a mistake?” he asked.

Isco nodded.

“I can’t do that,” Alvaro said.

Isco squeezed his eyes shut. “Why?” he whispered.

“Remember before I got with Paulo, I used to always talk to you about him?” Alvaro said. “Remember you told me you thought that as long as we were together, we’d always be able to get through anything? Because our feelings for each other would always, _always_ rise above everything else. You told me that it should’ve happened a long, long time ago because it was so fucking obvious that we were into each other. And that yes, the world would come for us but we would be _together_ and we would fucking shine. And you were right. I was wrong for being such a coward and you were right, Isco. I still think about it all the time. Paulo and I could have, should have been together since a long time ago. I was being selfish. I thought I knew what was best for Paulo but _I didn’t._ I never had a right to make Paulo’s decisions for him. Just like you don’t have the right to make Franco’s. He gets a say in this, too, you know? You don’t just get to...abandon him.”

“I’m not abandoning him,” Isco said.

“Aren’t you? You’re just – you’re leaving him when things get tough. I know that’s not your intention. But that’s what you’re _doing._ You’re being – I’m sorry, but you’re being selfish, Isco. You say you aren’t mad at me and that you aren’t mad at him. That might be true, but...but you’re mad at _yourself_. Isco, you’re mad at yourself and you’re making Franco pay for it. That’s not fucking fair.”

“He’d be so much better off without me,” Isco sobbed. “His life...I ruined his life. From the very start, I’ve – I’ve just been ruining his life over and over again. I just – maybe if I’d never met him. Maybe –”

“You can’t fucking say that and tell me you truly mean it,” Alvaro interrupted, almost yelling. “You can’t tell me you really wish you’d never met Franco.”

Isco shook his head and then hung it. He couldn’t. That was true. “I just want him to be happy,” he whispered.

“And you think he will be without you?” Alvaro asked.

Isco nodded. Alvaro went quiet again, like he was thinking about it.

“Isco,” he finally said. “You’re my best friend and I fucking adore you but I can’t be the one to tell you that you didn’t make a mistake. Because I think you’ve just made the biggest mistake in your life. And if I can’t help you see that, then – I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what you want to hear.”

Then he got up and went back into his room, leaving Isco in his own pool of misery.

\------

Franco spent the international break in his old Palermo home with his family.

He ran a slight fever all the way there, which made the flight there the most uncomfortable one Franco had ever been on. He slept the whole two hours from Barcelona to Palermo, and then in the car when Nicolas and Federico got him from the airport.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a couple of days. He didn’t remember what he did when he was awake. He only remembered his mom looking worried and Nicolas and Federico passing time by his bedside watching something lame on their phones.

The next time he regained full consciousness he was wearing two sweaters and sweating like a pig. Nicolas was sitting by his bed with his phone in his hand.

“You’re awake,” he said when he saw Franco crane his neck to try and see him. He grabbed an unopened bottle of water from the bedside table and popped a couple of pills out of their sheet. He passed them to Franco. “Time for your medicine.”

Franco took the pills and swallowed three quarters of the bottle. He didn’t even question where this so-called medicine came from. Nicolas took it back when Franco handed it to him, and then reached over and placed his hand on Franco’s forehead.

“You’re getting better,” he said. Better from what? Franco didn’t know. He didn’t ask.

“How long have I slept?” Franco asked, clearing his throat.

“Three hours since the last time you were awake,” Nicolas said. “But last time you spoke was three days ago at the airport.”

Franco stayed quiet and avoided eye contact.

“We touched your forehead and you told us to fuck off,” Nicolas added.

Franco nodded. He knew it was somewhere along those lines. “Sorry,” he said.

Nicolas shook his head. “Are you feeling better now?” he asked.

Franco shrugged. He didn’t know if he felt better. He lay back down on his side, facing away from Nicolas. Then he started to cry.

Okay, so he _wasn’t_ feeling better.

Nicolas gave a soft sigh. He climbed into bed behind Franco so they were back-to-back.

“Do you remember when we were young, we’d do this all the time?” he asked softly. “Remember we’d lie in bed and talk without looking at each other, and we swore we would always tell the truth because it was easier when weren’t looking into each other’s eyes and judging one another? And then at the end we’d walk away knowing that it was always going to be a secret because we also swore on that, and we knew so many things about each other that we’d never say to anyone else. Do you remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Franco mumbled.

“‘Course you do,” Nicolas said, and Franco heard a smile in his voice. “I mean, that was how you came out to me.”

Franco smiled. He couldn’t help but. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“So will you tell me the truth now?” Nicolas asked. “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll just be our little secret.”

“Okay.”

“Did you and Isco break up?”

Franco sighed. He tried to hold in a sob but failed. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Are you upset about it?”

“More than I can ever put into words,” Franco sobbed.

“Are you mad at him?” Nicolas asked.

“No, I’m –” Franco swallowed a sob. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. I just – I want him back. I don’t understand why he did what he did and I want him back.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t want to say everything again. I don’t think I can say everything again.”

“Okay, just a summary.”

“He said that he isn’t enough for me,” Franco mumbled. “He said that he’s the reason why everyone in Seville is targeting me, and if he’s out of the picture, then I’ll be safe. He said he couldn’t make me happy and he didn’t want to be selfish. He left because he said I’d be better without him. But I know I won’t. I’ll never be. I don’t – why did he make this decision by himself? He didn’t even listen to me. He didn’t even fucking _listen._ It’s our relationship. Mine and his. It’s not just his. He doesn’t get to just...just _say he’s leaving._ And it’s – our relationship doesn’t belong to all these haters, either. They don’t get a say in this. They don’t get to make Isco break up with me. Why doesn’t he see this? Why doesn’t he see that by doing this, he’s just giving in to them? Why doesn’t he – why won’t he listen to me?”

Nicolas went quiet for a while as Franco sobbed embarrassingly against his back.

“So you’re mad at him,” Nicolas finally said.

“A little bit,” Franco sobbed.

“But there’s nothing you can do about it right now, is there?” Nicolas said softly. “He’s made his choice. You guys...maybe you just need some time apart, you know? Maybe he’ll see after he’s been alone for a while. He’ll see that he was wrong.”

Franco nodded. He didn’t answer.

“This is your first heartbreak, isn’t it?” Nicolas continued. Franco nodded again. “You see, the thing about getting through these things is...just to convince yourself that it’s over. You know? That there’s no chance of it happening again.”

“Even if I believe that there is?”

“Even if you believe that there is. Just...just tell yourself that it’s history and that it’ll never happen again. Be convincing. Once you’ve made yourself give up on it, it’ll be more manageable. You know? If you keep hanging on to it, if you keep hoping that one day he’ll come back, then...you’ll never get anywhere. Do you get it, Franco?”

Franco nodded. He covered his mouth with his hand so his sobbing wouldn’t become too loud. “Nico,” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“If I haven’t spoken in three days, how’d you know Isco and I had broken up?”

Nicolas went silent for quite some time, like he was wondering if he should tell Franco the truth.

Then he asked, “If I tell you, promise you won’t be mad?”

“Mad at whom?”

“Me. Isco. Whoever.”

Franco thought about that for a minute. “Yeah,” he said. “Promise.”

“Okay, so,” Nicolas cleared his throat. “Isco posted this...thing on Instagram. A photo. With a quote. It was...uh, pretty obvious it was about you. He didn’t say it was, but. It was pretty obvious.”

Franco shut his eyes. He really wanted to see it, but. But he also didn’t.

“And also, you’ve been away and sick for three whole days and he didn’t even call once,” Nicolas finished. “So, yeah. Big brother instinct.”

Franco nodded. “Okay.”

“Are you mad?”

Franco shrugged. He truly didn’t know. He was just...sad.

“You won’t go snooping around his Instagram, will you?” Nicolas asked. “Not until you’re ready.”

“I didn’t promise you that.”

“Well, promise me now.”

“Whatever.”

“You’re going to look for it the instant I step out of this room, aren’t you?”

“ _Whatever._ ”

Nicolas got up and shoved Franco in the shoulder. “I’m done. And your sweat stinks, by the way.”

Franco sat up and took off his sweaters. He was immediately hit by a chill so he put one of them back on. He tested his feet and they were strong enough for him to stand on, so he did.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he told Nicolas.

“A hot one. Don’t catch a cold.”

Franco nodded. He took the clothes and towels Nicolas handed him and went to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and wiped all his sweat off with a towel while waiting for the water to warm up, so he wouldn't catch a cold.

Then he stepped into the shower and let it burn all the filth off of him, glad that he wasn't able to cry under the shower stream. He soaped himself clean and shaved a little of his overgrown beard, and then obediently put on the two layers of clothes Nicolas had given him and went out into the living room.

His parents were on the couch with Fausto, watching a cartoon. Nicolas was in the kitchen getting a drink. Franco joined him.

“Hey,” Nicolas said as Franco got some water.  He pointed to a pot on the stove. “Mom cooked some oatmeal for you.”

Franco took some of it and brought it outside with his water. Fausto ran up to him but everyone yelled at him not to get too close to sick Franco so he retreated. Franco curled up in the armchair across from his parents and started eating, realizing how famished he actually was. He didn't remember the last time he ate. He probably did eat, because his family was around to make sure that happened. But Franco didn't remember. He didn't even remember going to the toilet for three days.

He didn't realise it was night until Fausto started dozing when his cartoon ended. He went to wash his bowl and use the toilet and when he came back out, his parents and brothers were watching the Spain-Israel pre-match show. Nicolas tried to change the channel but Franco had already seen.

“It's okay,” Franco said softly. “You guys...uh, you watch. I’ll...go sleep. More. Yeah.”

Then he left before the camera could pan to Isco and shatter Franco’s heart again.

He returned to his room and sat on the bed, wondering what he was going to do. Like, to pass time right then, but also with his life.

Then Federico saved the day, arriving with an unopened box of Legos with the Eiffel Tower on the front and placing it on Franco’s lap before leaving without a word.

Franco sat on the ground and slowly pieced the Eiffel Tower together. He was so engrossed in it that it only took him two hours to complete about three quarters of it.

After those two hours Franco wanted to get some water because he was parched. He thought the match was almost over so he decided it was safe to go outside. He stood behind the couch and took a look at the scoreboard. It was in the 86th minute and the score was 3-1 in Spain’s favour.

The next minute, Spain scored.

Isco scored.

He looked...relatively calm as he reeled away in celebration and to kiss his arm tattoo of Junior’s birthday. He didn't really smile. But he didn't really look sad either.

Franco swallowed what turned out to be a very audible sob, making his whole family turn around and realise that he was standing there. Embarrassed, Franco turned on his heel and escaped to the kitchen, but unfortunately Nicolas and Federico followed him.

“I'm fine,” Franco said, back facing them. He poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one shot. He poured himself another as he said again, breathlessly, “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Nicolas asked kindly.

“It’s –” Franco paused to ride out a silent sob. “It's good for him. He's doing good. He's...he's good without me. That’s – that's enough for me. It's enough.”

From the faint reflection in the kitchen window Franco saw Federico turn to Nicolas silently as if to ask, ‘so it's true?’ and Nicolas nodding in reply.

“Are you still hungry?” Nicolas asked. “I think there's more oatmeal.”

Franco shook his head. He finished the second glass of water and put the glass in the sink. “I just. I just need to be alone, okay? I need to be alone.”

Then he escaped back to his room and shut the door gently. The 75%-completed Eiffel Tower sat in between him and the bed like it was taunting him.

Franco kicked it over so it smashed into its four hundred individual pieces with a loud crash. He stepped over them, lucky not to tread on any pieces despite his tears blinding him, and sat on the edge of the bed sobbing. He used his toes to nudge the pieces into a big pile in the middle of the floor.

Nicolas and Federico slowly opened the door and peeked in, evidently worried that Franco had hurt himself but then looking absolutely relieved that the sound was only Franco ruining something. Because they were used to that. They started retreating once they saw that Franco was okay.

“Hey,” Franco called. Or at least, he thought he called. Maybe to his brothers, it sounded more like a yelp. But they turned around, anyway. “Come sit with me.”

“I thought you wanted to be alone,” Federico pointed out.

“I don't want to anymore,” Franco said. He was aware that he was being a whiny piece of shit. But he also didn't care. Franco was the baby of the family. He always got his way. It was Nicolas and Federico’s job to coddle him. If he wanted his brothers to sit with him, _they'd sit with him._

So they did. They sat on the floor next to the Lego pile and watched as Franco started putting it together again. They eventually decided to help, probably because they were getting impatient. Between the three of them, it took an hour and a half.

“Would you like to get some sleep now?” Nicolas asked, softly like he was afraid Franco would get mad.

“Just one more thing,” Franco said, reaching for his phone on the bedside table. It was fully charged; his brothers were probably responsible for that. There were no missed calls or texts from Isco. “Could you...will you stay with me while I, uh. While I check Instagram?”

Nicolas smiled knowingly to himself while Federico nodded slowly.

Franco tapped the bright purple icon and waited for the app to load. He tapped the search bar and typed in Isco's username.

The latest photo in Isco’s feed was one Franco hadn't seen before. He guessed that was it.

It was a black and white photo of Isco’s back as he looked out – probably from his hotel room in Gijón – at the coastline. He was wearing one of his caps backwards. He was looking just a little to the side so his right jaw and some of his thick beard was visible.

_To love someone enough to let them go, you have to let them go forever or you do not love them enough._

Franco felt this. This strong blast of excruciating grief that was rapidly followed by a surprising bout of peaceful understanding.

It was over. Franco and Isco were over and Isco had done this so the world would know and the war of Seville vs Franco Vazquez would come to an end. Isco was putting an end to this mess for good. Once everyone knew, Franco would be free from the haters because he was no longer gay in their eyes. Franco knew it didn't work that way, but – in this scenario, it did.

Franco checked the rest of Isco’s feed. Isco hadn’t deleted a single one of his photos with Franco, neither had he changed a word of all the captions. He also hadn’t unfollowed Franco.

Franco put his phone down. Nicolas and Federico were peering anxiously at him.

“It’s fine,” Franco whispered. “I’m fine.”

He crawled into bed and under the sheets as Nicolas and Federico watched him. He curled up as tightly as he could. “Thanks for staying with me,” he mumbled.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Then they got up, carefully edged around the Eiffel Tower, and climbed into Franco’s bed, either side of Franco. Still not a word was said.

Then suddenly, Federico took out his phone and said, “Hey, you guys ever see that video of the cats hitching a ride on the vacuum cleaner?”

“No,” Nicolas said. He leaned over Franco to peer at Federico’s phone. “Show me.”

So Federico dug it out from God-knew-where and they cooed at it for a while before they made Franco join in. Then they went on to search for more cat videos and Franco _knew_ it was a ploy to distract him but he couldn’t help but get hooked on all of them. He smiled at some of them. He even laughed. It was – it was the most Franco had felt for a week.

Nicolas and Federico eventually fell asleep on Franco’s bed all squished up against Franco even though they’d complained that everything stunk because of how much Franco had sweated his fever out. They just. Just lay down and started snoring like a couple of pigs after they were sure Franco was okay.

Franco lay between them for a while, staring at the ceiling. It felt good to know that there were people there for him. Well, Matias and Joaquin were there for him, too, but. But these were his brothers. Their body weights crushing Franco from either side was a strangely comfortable feeling.

Franco reached over Nicolas and took his phone. He opened his notes and just. Just started typing. He just started typing how he felt. Typing – typing a letter to Isco he was probably never going to send. But it was a form of closure to Franco. Like he was telling Isco how he felt. Even if it was one-sided and Isco would probably never read it. It felt good for Franco to write it all out. He was going to take this step by step. Franco had more support than he’d ever asked for and Franco was going to get through this safe and sound. Franco was going to be okay.

_Dear Isco,_

_I hope you’re doing great. I saw your goal against Israel today. I’m very happy for you. I hope you continue scoring many more goals this season, and the next, and forever. I’ll always be rooting for you and hoping that you go out there and shine like the brightest star in the universe – which you are. As long as you’re happy and at peace and your life’s going great – with or without me – it will always be enough for me._

_Love,  
Your Franco_

\------

If anyone asked Isco how it happened, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them.

He remembered their game in Paris. He remembered their win and he remembered the instruction given about the flight being the next morning and the meeting time being at half past seven.

The next thing he remembered, he woke up in a foreign bed in a foreign hotel room that he instantly recognised was not his and Alvaro’s.

And there was a dude lying next to him, tangled in his end of the sheets, curly hair a mess. His upper body and one of his thighs were peeking out of the sheets. From what Isco could see, he was naked.

When Isco checked under his own side of the sheets, he was naked, too.

Isco got up in such a hurry that his vision was temporarily blinded. He tried to get out of the bed but only succeeded in falling on his ass on the ground, dragging some of the sheets along with him. He managed to free himself from them and scramble to the bathroom so he could hurl into the toilet.

It couldn’t be possible. Maybe this was just a dream. Isco pinched himself hard on his forearm but it only sent a jolt of pain through him and made him even more awake.

He remembered the bar. The restaurant bar at the hotel lobby. He remembered going there for a drink – just one drink, he told himself – and he remembered ordering the strongest one on the menu. He remembered the guy – that very guy lying in bed right then – coming to join him. He remembered them – _fuck_ , he remembered them making out at the bar and then in the lift upstairs, and he remembered thinking God, he needed some release. Any kind of release. Just some release. He remembered specifically telling this to that guy. That he wanted it. That he _needed_ it.

Isco wiped his mouth with a little square of toilet paper as there were some shuffling noises outside. So the dude had woken up. Isco hated that he didn’t even know his name.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked in heavily-accented Spanish as he leaned against the bathroom door. He had his pants back on, which was a relief. Isco didn’t think he could look at a dick right then.

“Did we fuck?” Isco asked hoarsely. He just. He needed to _know._

“What?”

“Did we fuck?” Isco asked, this time more loudly.

A short pause, then, “Yeah.”

Isco squeezed his eyes shut. His face was burning and he wasn't sure if it was because he was hungover as fuck or if he was crying. In fact, his entire body was fucking burning like it was on fire.

“I mean,” the dude continued when Isco didn't respond. “You're single now, right?”

“That’s not the point!” Isco said, even though, well. That was technically the point.

“Okay,” the French dude said. He was pretty mild. Isco appreciated that. He didn’t want to get into a fight or anything. Not verbal, not physical.

When Isco didn’t say anything else the guy went outside and picked out all of Isco’s clothes, then brought them back and passed them to Isco. Isco put them on quietly. He checked his pockets for his wallet and phone and then went to the door with the poor dude following him.

“Look,” Isco said. “I’m sorry. About everything. I know I said that...that I wanted it, but. But I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have done it. And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, man, I know,” he said. “I mean, it was just one time. I get it. No strings.”

“And, uh,” Isco shrugged. “I’d appreciate it if...if you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

“Sure.”

Then he shut the door and Isco managed to walk only a few steps down the corridor before his legs gave way and he fell on the ground. He checked the time on his phone. It was almost five in the morning. There was a text from Alvaro asking where he was. Isco tapped the call button.

Alvaro took the call after like, ten rings. “Hello?” he said sleepily.

“Can you come get me?” Isco asked. He closed his eyes as tears started falling out of them. “Please?”

Alvaro sighed. “Where?”

Isco checked the number on the nearest door. “Seventh floor corridor.”

“Coming,” Alvaro said, and hung up.

Isco sat there on the ground just. Just crying as softly as he could so he wouldn’t disturb anyone. He hadn’t even spoken more than five sentences to Alvaro since their lame little fight. It was pretty obvious Alvaro was pissed at Isco, even if Isco didn’t completely understand why. And fuck, Isco knew that if even _Alvaro_ wasn’t willing to take his side, then there was no one that could save Isco.

Alvaro appeared five minutes later in his pyjamas and bedroom slippers. He didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, just walking lazily down the corridor and pulling Isco to his feet.

“C’mon,” he said, then walked ahead of Isco, not even bothering to hold Isco up.

Isco stumbled after him, still sobbing softly to himself. “Alvaro. Alvaro, can I talk to you?”

“Yeah?” Alvaro asked. The lift dinged open when Alvaro hit the button, probably from when Alvaro sat it down earlier. He stepped inside and Isco followed him.

“I fucked up,” Isco whispered. He stuck his hands in his pockets as they began to shake.

“I know you fucked up. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“No, not that, it’s,” Isco took a deep breath. “Tonight. Last night. I fucked up last night.”

“What did you do?”

“I just,” Isco squatted on the ground and buried his head in his hands. “I fucked up real bad.”

“The fuck,” Alvaro said. He tried pulling Isco to his feet but Isco wouldn’t budge, so Alvaro squatted by him. “Isco, what the fuck. Tell me what you did. You wanna tell me what you did? I can’t help you if you don’t.”

“I slept with this dude,” Isco whispered. “From the bar downstairs.”

“What the fuck,” Alvaro said again. “How – why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, okay? I just know I was really drunk and I met him and we both really wanted to fuck so we did, and now I feel so fucking horrible and I wish I’d never done that, Alvaro, I fucked up. My whole life right now is just. It’s just a fuck up. I just. I’m spiralling. You know? I’m just – it’s all downward from here. I don’t know how long I can do this.”

“Why do you feel horrible about it?” Alvaro asked. “I mean, you’re single now. You sleep with whoever you want.”

Isco was too shaken to hear the sarcasm in that sentence, so he fell right into its trap. “I feel like I’m letting Franco down,” he said.

The lift doors opened. Alvaro stepped out of them and turned back to look at Isco from outside. He had this. This really condescending look on his face. Alvaro had never looked like that. He was always the confused but happy, butting his nose into other people’s business but never trying to change their opinions or feelings kinda person. So it kinda. It kinda scared Isco.

“That’s no one’s fault but your own,” Alvaro said. “And if you don’t know how long you can do this – then why did you choose to do it in the first place?”

Then he turned around before Isco could answer, and walked back to their shared room, leaving Isco in his misery again.


	34. Every Stumble And Each Misfire I Miss You More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :)  
> I'm sorry in advance that this chapter is a little mild (?) but the next chapter is the finale and I promise that will be more satisfying ;) Anyway, this chapter contains some hints (I guess you could call it that) about what happens in the finale, so I hope you enjoy and thank you again for all your support!
> 
> Title is from Good Grief by Bastille.

The moment Isco stepped into his house after returning from Paris, he received a call from Paulo.

Isco sat on his couch with his finger frozen over the call button. Junior was still in Málaga with Isco’s family and Sonia, so Isco was free to do whatever he wanted. He watched the screen go off when the call ran itself out.

Then lighting up again when Paulo called back.

Isco sighed. Paulo and him had only ever had like, one conversation. He didn't know why Paulo was calling him. Though he sort of had a little idea. He could almost feel the anger radiating from the phone. _Answer me, you bitch._

He picked up when Paulo called for the third time.

“What the fuck did you do?” Paulo screamed before Isco could say a word.

“Um,” Isco said. “I – Alvaro told you?”

“Alvaro told me?” Paulo repeated, sounding genuinely confused. “What? No! I'm talking about the tabloids.”

“Tabloids?”

“Are you pretending you don't know or do you really not know?”

“I really don't know,” Isco said. He was a little. A little frightened. Paulo had never been mad at him. And according to Alvaro, Paulo was rarely ever this raging mad. Paulo was – he'd hear things through before forming an opinion.

“I'm sending you a link,” Paulo said. “From a French tabloid. There's grainy pictures of you making out with some guy at a bar and then leaving with him.”

Isco squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Yeah, fuck,” Paulo said. “Fuck indeed. What the fuck did you do? Did you sleep with him?”

“I did,” Isco whispered.

Paulo gave this really loud, exasperated sigh. “Isco,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologise to me.”

“No one else will accept my apology.”

“That doesn't mean you have to go around randomly apologising until someone accepts,” Paulo said. “You can't just apologise to everyone except the only person who needs to hear it.”

“That person isn't going to listen to my apology.”

“You don't know that.”

A long pause.

“Look,” Paulo was the first to speak. “Franco is a great guy. He's really – he's a great guy. I'm sure you know that.”

“Yeah,” Isco said softly.

“And I get it, honestly. I get why you feel this way. It's scary when everyone suddenly comes for you. Even just the prospect of it is scary. But going through it with someone else is always better than going through it on your own. Especially if it’s someone you love.”

“It’s just,” Isco paused to swallow a sob. “He’s been through so much. Franco, he’s – he’s been through so much for me.”

“And you’re just letting it all go to waste?”

Isco shut his eyes. He felt like no matter what he did, it wouldn’t be right.

“Isco,” Paulo said. “I’ve known Franco for five years. He always, _always_ sticks by his friends. And you’re not even just his friend. He might be angry, sure, but he’ll always forgive you. And even if he’s angry – Isco. Franco in the past would’ve been really, really angry with you for doing this. But after he met you, Franco’s a totally different person. Not in a bad way, but he became so much happier and he loves you and he’d do anything for you in a heartbeat. He’d put all his fucking annoying pride aside and he’d do _anything_ for you. He’s going to be mad. I’m sure he’s mad. But I believe that he’ll forgive you. He won’t give up on you this easily.”

“He hasn’t even called me,” Isco sobbed. Part of him thought that maybe Franco was doing perfectly fine without him. Isco didn’t want to find out. Either way, he knew he’d be heartbroken. “He hasn’t – I haven’t spoken to him.”

“Do you blame him?” Paulo asked. “Honestly? I wouldn’t call you either.”

“Yeah,” Isco sighed. “I just. I don’t know. Maybe we need some time apart.”

“You’ll talk to him though, yeah?” Paulo said gently. “Eventually?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You know, I just think that – I know this doesn’t happen often, but I think Alvaro is right. You made a mistake.”

“I know.”

“And I know he hasn’t exactly been really nice about it, so,” Paulo sighed. “Isco, remember you told us that as long as Alvaro and I were together, then there was nothing we couldn’t get through? Remember you said, whatever other people said about us didn’t matter as long as we knew how we truly felt in our hearts? You were right then. And you’re wrong now.”

Isco nodded, even though Paulo couldn’t see him. He remembered telling Franco that, too. Last December, when they’d first decided to do that La Liga interview together, and Franco had been nervous about it. Isco had told him that they were never going to surrender control to any haters because it was ultimately themselves who decided what was right. That they were never going to be able to please everybody, so they shouldn’t care about whether they got a consensus. He’d told Franco that no matter what other people said, it was never going to change Isco’s feelings for Franco. Nothing _anyone_ ever said was going to change Isco’s feelings.

And it hadn’t. But Isco had gone back on his word about staying by Franco’s side through it all.

“You’re gonna be okay, yeah?” Paulo asked when Isco didn’t respond.

“Yeah.”

“Alvaro will be there for you.”

“He’s mad at me.”

“He’s being stupid. I talked to him. That was no way to treat a friend. Especially after how much you’ve been there for Alvaro. For us. You never abandoned Alvaro when he was in trouble.”

Isco smiled. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Paulo said. “Take care,” he said before hanging up.

Isco sat with his head in his hands for a while before picking his phone up again and clicking on the link Paulo had sent him privately. It was the only text in their private conversation. What a way to start it off.

There were two grainy photographs right at the top, the left one of them making out at the bar and the right one of them fucking feeling each other up as they went into the lift. It was pretty dark. It must’ve been closing time.

God, Isco couldn’t believe he’d done that. And in _public_ , too.

Isco didn’t read the article, just scrolled past it all the way to the bottom. He was pretty sure he already knew what was written. At the bottom was a link to an article with the headline, _3 signs Spain’s power couple are broken up_ , with an image of Isco and Franco that was split down the middle.

Isco sighed. He tapped on it.

The first sign they listed was Isco’s Instagram post, of course. The second was Isco’s very obvious avoidance of the question he was asked after his goal for Spain about whether Franco was in Gijón watching him in the stadium. The third was the absence of any congratulatory photo on Instagram by Franco, whether it was a story or a post, despite him having previously never once failing to post one every single time Isco scored or even assisted.

Isco angrily tapped the browser closed. He wondered if Franco had seen all these things. Instinct made him tap his way to Franco’s contact in his phone and almost call him.

But that seemed a little bit cruel, calling his ex-boyfriend to ask if he’d seen those photos of Isco hooking up, so Isco threw the phone aside.

Isco suddenly. He suddenly felt so lonely. He just wanted someone to talk to. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d been right about himself before; he could never get relationships right. It wasn’t even because of Junior anymore. It was because of _Isco._ Because Isco was a fucking _fuck-up_ and he ruined every good thing in his life.

He trudged into his room and opened the closet, revealing all of Franco’s things still intact. Isco didn’t think he would want to come and get them anymore. He crawled into the little space under all of Franco’s clothes and curled up against the back of the closet. Franco’s scent just – just made Isco feel so _safe._

Isco stayed there for the rest of the day, afraid that if he stepped out of that closet, he’d leave his sanity behind.

\------

_Dear Isco,_

_I watched your match against Alavés before I left for mine. You’re getting a knack for these last-minute goals, huh? I loved it, though. I love that you’re happy. Please always be happy._

_I love you._

_Franco_

\------

Franco’s April started off like absolute fucking shit.

Firstly, there was that stupid article about Isco hooking up at a hotel bar. Franco hadn’t been searching for it. He hadn’t been googling Isco or some creepy shit like that. It had just...made some news sites Franco frequented, after it gained traction from the original French tabloid.

Frankly, the photos were too grainy for Franco to make out anything. Or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to stare at them for too long. But the burden of it tore Franco apart every single day. Isco had moved on and there Franco was, still stuck in the same place. Still stuck in the past. Still sitting on the side of the road waiting for Isco to come back and get him.

Secondly, because of that article and all the circumstances surrounding it, the entire world had deduced that Franco and Isco were no longer a thing. The good thing was, Franco wasn’t bothered when he was walking on the street. He guessed that was what Isco was aiming for. But the bad thing was, of course – _they were no longer a thing_.

Thirdly, Franco was dropped to the bench for the first two games of April and didn’t even manage to play one minute. Franco had long recovered from his illness and it was obvious that Sampaoli wasn’t leaving him on the bench just because Franco was unfit. Franco had diligently completed all his training sessions. It had to be some other reason. Franco didn’t dare to pry.

And lastly, it was Isco’s fucking birthday month. Franco had wanted to plan a party for Isco. He still wanted to. Now he couldn’t. He couldn’t even _talk_ to Isco, ask Isco if he was doing okay. And Franco was just. Just so fucking tired. He was tired and he missed Isco and all his fucking energy, and he still loved Isco with his entire stupid heart and Franco just wanted to sleep all day so he never had to think about all these things.

But by that point, a week into April, Franco had legitimately ran out of tears to cry. He just. Sometimes he just sat on his couch and tried to cry, tried to let everything out, to loosen the knot in his chest. But he failed, and the knot just grew and grew like a tumour and Franco thought he was never going to be able to get rid of it.

Then again, it would probably fill the Isco-shaped hole in his heart. Maybe. Maybe his grief would turn into anger and Franco Vazquez could deal with anger. He could move on with his life. But he couldn’t deal with grief.

He poured all of it into training and working out on extra days at the gym. He ran extra rounds after everyone had gone home, sometimes in the evening when the floodlights were on. Anyway, he had nowhere else to be. He was just. Alone.

After their last training session before the match against Deportivo, Sampaoli called Franco aside.

“Are you ready for me to start you the next match?” he asked.

“What?” was Franco’s first reaction. He cleared his throat. “I mean...sure.”

“I’m planning to,” Sampaoli said. “You’re okay? I mean, not just physically. Mentally, psychologically – you’re doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Franco said. He managed a smile. “I’m putting in all I can at training. I’m sorry if...if it shows that I’m distracted or anything.”

“It doesn’t, that’s why I was worried,” Sampaoli said.

“How so?”

“There are so many things happening in your life.”

“I try my best not to let my private life interfere with my football.”

“I know, and I appreciate that,” Sampaoli said. “But you can ask for a break if you need it. Sometimes it gets too much. I understand that. But you’re very good at keeping these two things apart. You’re _too_ good at it. I don’t want you to overdo it or push yourself too far. That’s why I wanted to give you a rest these last two games. Because if I’d asked you, you wouldn’t have agreed.”

“Thank you,” Franco said softly. “It's just. You've never...talked to me about this. You know, the typical ‘you represent the club now and you're free to do what you want as long as it doesn't affect the club’s reputation’ talk. I know that my friends got them, and Isco got one too. I just – I don't mean anything bad with this, I just felt lost because I was never told what you wanted me to do.”

Sampaoli gave Franco a warm smile. “That's because it shouldn't matter what I want you to do. If any one of your other teammates gets a girlfriend, do I call them in for a meeting and tell them how to behave? No. I don't. It shouldn't be any different if any of you get a boyfriend. It's something that's supposed to be normal. I wanted it to be normal. You don't need me to tell you what to do. You can handle that yourself.”

Franco felt his lips turn up in a smile. He used the towel draped over his shoulder to wipe his face, pretending to clean his sweat but actually wiping the tears before they could fall from his eyes.

“But that being said, I'm sorry I caused a misunderstanding,” Sampaoli continued when Franco didn't say a word.

Franco shook his head. “Thank you,” he said softly again.

Sampaoli gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before leaving. Franco actually felt – he actually felt more of relief than anything else. So Sampaoli hadn't stayed silent because he disapproved, neither was it because he was some degree of homophobic. In fact, it was exactly the opposite.

It was too bad that it was already too late.

Franco suddenly just. Just wanted to tell Isco all of this. He wanted to tell Isco that they’d misinterpreted Sampaoli, that they had been doing great on the more important scale. The Betis fans had no right to tell them if they were right or wrong. _They themselves_ did. _The people who mattered to them_ did. Not people with no relation at all to them.

But he couldn’t. Franco couldn’t. He could just – he had all these things he saw or that happened to him that made him immediately think about Isco but which he could no longer just text Isco about. Franco just. He missed Isco so fucking much he could practically feel a little sliver of his sanity peel off and escape every time he thought of Isco.

Franco returned to the locker room to get his things for a shower and found a clean Matias and Joaquin waiting for him there.

“Dinner?” Matias asked. “We’ll cook.”

Franco nodded. “I can cook,” he said.

Matias and Joaquin looked _delighted._ They looked at each other, then nodded eagerly at Franco. After his shower, Franco drove them to the supermarket in his newly-repaired car for grocery shopping because he was sure he didn't have enough food at his house – they enjoyed it very much, by the way, and made Franco pay for all their stuff again – and then back home.

Franco made steak, potatoes, and vegetables for everyone, and only when they were all sat in the living room ready to eat did Joaquin dare to pop the question, “So, you feeling okay?”

Franco nodded.

There was a weird silence. Franco was sure they wanted to ask him about Isco hooking up but didn't know how to do so and hence were just carefully skirting around actually mentioning it.

“You can ask me about the news of Isco fucking some other dude, you know,” Franco said. He felt his blood boil just at the mention of it. Which was good, actually. At least Franco was turning mad.

Matias remained quiet, but Joaquin went right ahead. “So how do you feel about it?” he asked, earning himself a loud smack on the arm from Matias.

Franco shrugged.

“That's not an acceptable answer given that _you_ asked _us_ to _ask you_ ,” Joaquin said.

Franco sighed. “It's like, none of my business, you know? But I feel like it is. I mean, see, even you guys think it's my business.”

“Are you mad at him?” Matias asked. He seemed to always prioritize Franco being clear about his emotions.

“I shouldn’t be, right?” Franco asked softly as he sawed at his steak, desperate to avoid eye contact. “I mean...we broke up. It’s none of my fucking business.”

“No one’s to say that, though,” Matias said. “You decide that.”

“I’ve no right to be angry.”

“But are you?”

Franco sighed again. “Yeah. I am.”

Silence save for their knives clanging on their plates.

“It’s just,” Franco continued, realising that this was the perfect moment to release all his frustrations. “I just wanna know if he did it on purpose. Did he want to find a guy to hook up with? Is he, like, looking for someone new now? Was he just doing it to show _me_ that he’s fucking moved on? Or was it like, just a one-night accident? I don’t know. I mean, we’re over, and I know that. I just. I just wanna know how he feels, you know? I know it’s not healthy, but I just. I wanna know. You know, I don't even know if it's really him? Those photos are horrible. I can't see anything at all. But he's...he hasn't denied it, yeah? So...i don't know, I just, maybe I'm in denial.”

Another short silence.

“Does it...hurt you that he did that?” Matias asked.

“‘Course it does,” Franco whispered. “Part of me still thinks that...he’s mine. Even though he’s not. It still feels like he’s mine and this just feels like...like he cheated. I know he didn’t. I know this isn’t cheating. I know. But...part of me doesn’t.”

“I think it’s better to be mad than to be hurt,” Joaquin said, leading to the both of them turning and staring at him. “What? It’s just that, on the off-chance that he actually did that to hurt you, then if you’re hurt, he wins.”

“You think he did that to hurt me?” Franco asked.

“No,” Joaquin said. “I didn’t say that. Don’t say I said that.”

“It’s on the off-chance,” Matias said. “I don’t think he did it on purpose. Just saying.”

“You just gotta live your life, Franco,” Joaquin said, stuffing a mouthful of steak in his mouth. “And it’s better to live it angry than to live it sad.”

Man, this little fella got it. Being angry put Franco in more control than being sad. Franco knew that. Franco wanted that.

But he also didn’t want to be mad at Isco.

“I’m trying to be neither angry nor sad,” Franco said. “Just. Just zen.”

“Zen is good,” Matias remarked.

“Yeah, zen is the best,” Joaquin added.

“It’s just that it’s been two weeks,” Franco swallowed the lump in his throat. “And I’m not feeling any better about it. This is someone I love, you know? Present tense. Because I haven’t stopped loving him at all. You guys don’t know about my past, but – this is a big deal to me. This relationship. And I just – I can’t help but feel like I ruined it.”

“You didn’t,” Matias assured him. “It’s not your fault. It may be his, but. That’s also debatable.”

“It’s the Betis fans’ fault,” Joaquin said.

“Yeah,” Matias agreed.

Franco smiled. “Thanks for being here for me.”

“‘Course,” Joaquin said. He shoved Franco in the shoulder. “We love hanging out with you.”

“Yeah, no matter sad or angry or zen.”

“Or fucking annoying.”

“Fuck you,” Franco shoved Joaquin back in the shoulder, harder.

“Fuck _you_ ,” Joaquin retorted. He reached for a tissue and handed it to Franco. “Stop crying into your steak, it’s already salty enough.”

“You think my steak is too salty?” Franco asked.

“It’s not, I was kidding,” Joaquin said. “Actually, it’d be nice if it were saltier.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier, then?” Franco asked. He got the salt from the kitchen and handed it to Joaquin.

“Oh, thank God,” Joaquin said. “For a moment there I thought you were gonna cry in my steak.”

“Fuck off,” Franco said as Matias laughed.

Honestly, Franco missed having someone to bicker with. Nicolas and Federico were his brothers and sure, they bickered sometimes but the support Franco’s brothers gave to him was more caring and familial than anything else. They were quietly, strongly, unconditionally supportive. Matias and Joaquin were different. They were teasing and their main aim was to understand Franco and make Franco laugh at the same time. They may never understand how serious this entire thing was to Franco as much as Franco’s brothers understood, but they were here for a different purpose.

And Franco accepted it. Franco appreciated it.

Franco was going to take every kind of support anyone was going to afford him right then.

Besides, as much as there was a part of him that still thought that Isco was his – there was also a part of him that knew that this would get better in time. Because over time, whether Franco liked it or not, he would stop understanding Isco. He would stop being emotionally connected to Isco. Because it wasn't a permanent thing to Franco; it was something mutable. Everyone experienced it differently and this was just how Franco did, in particular. Franco loved Isco because he trusted Isco, because he knew they would always turn to each other when they needed to. Because he knew that Isco would understand him just as much as Franco understood Isco. But they weren’t going to anymore. Without their long, deep talks, they'd drift apart not only in the conventional way of the word, but also – also in the truly ultimate sense of the word.

Franco wasn't sure if he wanted that day to come, but he was sure of one thing – that it eventually would.

\------

Besides Joaquin and Matias, Franco also found himself relying more on Paulo and Alvaro.

Paulo called a few times to ask how Franco was, but then it transitioned to conference calls with Alvaro and Franco had no choice but to accept it. Even though it was mostly just Paulo and Alvaro arguing about the randomest things. It wasn’t even arguing. It was like, the gentlest of arguments. Franco didn’t really understand, but also, like, relationship goals, man.

Anyway, just like Franco had anticipated, the topic of Isco came up around their fourth call.

They had been talking about how it’d been Miralem’s birthday a little more than a week ago and Paulo had spearheaded the party, and Paulo had been teasing Alvaro about how horrible he was at planning things. Which, well. Franco sorta disagreed with. Alvaro was quite good at planning things. He’d helped Franco execute plans quite a few times. But Franco didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t want Alvaro getting all big-headed.

But then came the careless mention by Alvaro. “Whatever, Paulo, I’m not going to make this into a competition. You’re not going to see me plan anything for Isco’s birthday, fucking loser asshole.”

There was like, a three-minute silence that followed.

“Um,” Paulo was the one who broke it. “Anyway.”

“Did you have a fight with him?” Franco couldn’t help but ask.

“They’re just being stupid,” Paulo said.

“What happened?” Franco prodded.

There was another shorter silence, and Franco could practically _feel_ Paulo and Alvaro virtually glancing at each other even though they were a thousand and a half kilometers apart.

“I was just mad at him for how he treated you,” Alvaro finally said in a small voice.

Franco gave a soft laugh. “You don’t have to be.”

“You were just trying to protect him.”

“He’s trying to protect me now, too,” Franco said. Even if he didn't understand why Isco made that decision on his own, he did understand the rationale behind it.

Alvaro sighed. “Yeah.”

“Someone’s gotta be there for him,” Franco said softly. “I just...don’t want him to feel alone.”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said again.

“See? I told you this was stupid,” was what Paulo had to say about everything. “Telling him nicely and giving him advice is one thing. Freaking the fuck out at him and ignoring him for days is a completely different thing.”

Both Alvaro and Franco had nothing to say to that.

“Will you talk to him?” Franco asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Alvaro said.

“Look at you two, agreeing on something,” Paulo cooed.

“Shut the fuck up,” Franco and Alvaro said in unison.

“See?” Paulo said, and then laughed for like, three whole minutes.

“I’m just,” Franco said when Paulo finally stopped cackling. “You know, just a little sad I don’t get to spend his birthday with him. I mean, he probably doesn’t want me around –”

“Shut up, he totally does,” Paulo said.

“– but I’d like to spend it with him anyway.”

“This sucks,” Alvaro sighed. “I just, you know, you two were so happy. I was so happy for you two.”

“Am I being selfish? Is this just me being selfish?” Franco asked.

“It’s not,” Paulo and Alvaro said at the same time. “You’ve been totally selfless this past month and a half,” Alvaro added.

“But it’s all come to naught, hasn’t it?”

A short silence.

“Have you…” Alvaro started slowly, cautiously. “Do you...you know…?”

“About Isco fucking that dude?” Franco finished for him. “Yeah. I know.”

“Alvaro,” Paulo said, sounding disappointed.

“Sorry,” Alvaro said.                                                                                                    

“It’s okay,” Franco said. So he hadn't even needed to ask if it was really Isco. Paulo and Alvaro would know best, and  _they_ weren't denying it either. Franco just. He didn't know why he still placed so much trust in Isco, enough trust to even have the slightest sliver of denial that Isco had slept with another guy. “I’m just – I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You do,” Paulo said. “Or maybe you don’t. But you need to talk about it.”

Franco sighed. Maybe he’d just try to summarize it. “It’s none of my business. We broke up. He’s not mine anymore and he’s free to do whatever the fuck he wishes. I don’t have the right to care, or be mad, or be hurt by it. I do, and I am, but I have no right because he didn’t cheat, because he’s not mine and I wish he was, but he isn’t and I just. Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Alvaro said again.

“Yeah,” Franco said softly. He swallowed his sob, hard. So hard it actually hurt his throat. Because he wasn’t going to let Alvaro fucking Morata hear him cry.

“It’s just that...he didn’t do it on purpose, you know?” Alvaro asked.

“He didn’t?”

“Yeah, he didn’t. He was drunk as fuck and when he woke up he called me to go get him and he was just crying on the floor. He said he let you down. He said he’s spiralling and he doesn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah?” Franco whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut. Somehow, that relieved him. The thought that Isco hadn’t done it on purpose just to spite Franco. It relieved Franco of an extra burden he wasn’t aware he was carrying, although it did reinforce the question in Franco’s mind: If Isco still loved Franco and still cared about Franco, then why didn’t he think he and Franco could get through this _together_? This was one of the greatest questions Franco had ever had.

“Yeah, then I got mad at him and left him in the elevator,” Alvaro confessed.

Franco couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Why’d you get mad at him?”

“Because he’s being a fucking idiot!” Alvaro said. “He’s bringing all of this on himself. He’s the only person who can change things right now but he’s being fucking stubborn and he’s going crazy and I can’t help him. He’s not being fair to himself or to you. I mean, if _I_ can see that, then there’s something really wrong.”

“That’s very true,” Paulo chimed in, leading Alvaro to give him a tiny ‘shut up.’

“I just wish there was something I could do to make everything right again,” Franco whispered.

Another silence. Franco actually felt good. He always felt good when he was talking about Isco. No matter what it was about. It was just. Just like Isco’s presence was back. Isco _existed_ and he was a blessing to this universe.

So Franco was moving quickly towards being zen. That was good. It was good.

Then Franco had the best idea of his life.

“Hey,” he said. “Morata. I just had the best idea in the world.”

“Look at you two, collaborating on something,” Paulo cooed.

Neither of them bothered about him. “What is it?” Alvaro asked.

And maybe Franco couldn’t make things right on the big scale – but he could make things right for himself. And he could help Isco have a good time along the way. So he told the both of them his idea and they agreed to help him, and Franco felt less lonely than he’d felt in almost a month.

\------

_Dear Isco,_

_I don’t want to be mad at you. I don’t want to be sad. But it hurts and every day I think about it. I think about you. Are you looking for someone new? Was it just a one-night stand? Are you happy? I know I shouldn’t care. I know I shouldn’t be mad. I know that you are no longer mine because you’ve made that pretty clear. I know that I have no business in this whole thing. I know that I shouldn’t be expecting an apology from you because this is not your fault and you don’t owe me anything. But I love you and I will never stop caring for you. I will never stop hoping that you will be mine again. I will never stop wanting to ask about your day and listen to you talk. I will never stop feeling like a part of me has gone with you. I know one day this will be over for good. That I’ll stop caring so much about you. But I’m not sure if I want that day to come._

_Anyway, I hope you’re happy._

_Love,  
Franco_

\------

Before the second week of April ended, Antonio dropped Junior off at Isco’s house on his way to Bilbao, where he was assigned for work, so at least Isco had some company.

Or so he thought.

“He can’t stop asking about Franco,” was the first thing Antonio informed Isco when they met at the train station.

Isco sighed. “In what way?”

“Vazquez this, Vazquez that. He barely even asked about you until this morning.”

“Vazquez!” Junior exclaimed at the mention of Franco’s name. “Here? Vazquez?”

Isco shook his head and Junior pouted for a while before going back to fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Isco gave his tiny hand a squeeze but was ignored.

“Anyway,” Antonio said, picking up his bags. “Gotta go, train’s leaving.”

“Thanks,” Isco said. “Take care.”

“You too.”

Isco watched his brother board the train shuttle to the airport. He was wasting a whole lot of time taking the train to Madrid and then a plane to Bilbao just so he could pass Junior to Isco, rather than flying to Bilbao straight from Málaga; but Isco guessed he was okay with that. Besides, Junior was Isco’s responsibility.

Junior was strangely quiet in the car all the way home. He sat in his booster seat hugging his giant yellow bear and looking curiously out the window.

“You okay there?” Isco asked.

Junior turned and stared at the back of Isco’s seat for a while. “Papa you take me to see Vazquez?”

Isco smiled, and then sighed. “I can’t do that, baby.”

“Why? I never see Vazquez for long time.”

“He doesn’t want to see us.”

“Why? Vazquez angry?”

“Maybe, yeah.”

“Papa you make him angry?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Why?”

“You know,” Isco said slowly so Junior would understand. “When someone is better without you? Like, not you, but, just an example.”

“What’s example?”

“Okay,” Isco sighed. “So...Vazquez, he’s having his own life. And I thought that...me being in his life would make it...not a good life. Do you know? It’s like when mama watches TV and you go bug her, and she asks you to go play with your toys and leave her alone. You know?”

“So Vazquez watch TV and papa disturb him? That’s why Vazquez angry?”

Isco laughed. “Yeah, that’s...kinda the opposite of it.”

“Papa I don’t understand,” Junior said, frustrated.

“He’s watching TV and I don’t want to disturb him so I’m going away, and he doesn’t understand why I’m going away so he’s a little sad. He doesn’t want me to go away. He wants me to...watch TV with him.”

“So why papa don’t watch TV with him?”

“Because I think I will be disturbing him.”

“But papa do you want to watch TV?”

“Yeah,” Isco said softly. “Yeah, I do.”

“Papa you wanna watch TV, and Vazquez wanna you to watch TV with him, so why not watch TV together?”

Isco laughed again. “It’s not that simple.”

Junior glared at him through the rearview mirror for a while, then got distracted by the scenery again, more familiar because they had turned onto their street.

“Papa I miss Vazquez,” Junior said when Isco unbuckled him and took him out of his booster seat.

“Me, too,” Isco whispered. He took Junior’s bag out from the backseat and carried Junior inside the house. “You miss papa too?”

“Miss papa too,” Junior nodded.

“You miss Vazquez more, don’t you?”

“Miss Vazquez more,” Junior said, then slipped out of Isco’s arms and scurried away to his play area, dragging his yellow bear with him. Bubu immediately leapt out of his spot and followed him, tail wagging eagerly.

Isco sighed. He followed them and sat down as Junior ran about collecting all his toys. He eventually acknowledged Isco by running into his arms and hugging him tightly.

“Papa look sad,” he said.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “I’m okay.”

“Papa you miss Vazquez too?”

Isco nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“Papa take me to see Vazquez.”

“I can't.”

“Why?” Junior demanded. “Why can't? Papa, I never see Vazquez for long time. I wanna play with Vazquez.”

“I'm sorry, baby.”

Junior reached for his ragged yellow bear. It was a little grey and the hairs were matted – all in all it was in a state that Franco would have certainly disapproved of.

Indeed, Junior said, “Papa I want new bear.”

“We'll go to the mall and I'll get you one.”

Junior shook his head firmly. “I want Vazquez get me.”

“Hey,” Isco said. “C’mon, be good.”

Junior gave this really loud shriek into Isco’s face. He sat down on the ground hugging his bear’s arm and pouting, and then a couple minutes later stood up and started putting his train tracks together, completely ignoring Isco when Isco tried to call out to him.

Isco sighed. He got up and made an omelette for the both of them to share. When he brought it back to Junior’s play area, Junior had moved on to the puzzle set Franco had bought him.

“Time for lunch,” Isco said. He sat down and got a small piece of omelette on Junior’s plastic spoon. He put it to Junior’s mouth but Junior turned his head to the side. “C’mon, you have to eat something.”

“No!” Junior yelled. He shifted his puzzle pieces further away from Isco.

“Come on,” Isco chased after him on his knees. “You have to eat something. Aren’t you hungry? Listen to papa. Put this in your mouth before it gets cold.”

“No!” Junior shrieked this time, so loudly the glass windows almost rattled. “Papa I don’t want! I don’t want!”

Then he flung his hand in Isco’s direction to make Isco bug off, but only managed to slap the spoon out of Isco’s hand so it landed on the ground together with the tiny piece of omelette.

Isco watched the spoon rattle on the ground for a few moments before turning back to Junior. Junior had slowly retreated until he was in the very corner, cowering in fear of Isco’s potential fury. Isco shut his eyes and counted to ten, waiting for the anger swooshing around in his chest to calm the fuck down – a technique Franco had taught him, but Isco had no energy to think of that right then.

He opened his eyes and put the plate holding the remainder of the omelette on the ground. Junior was still shaking in his corner, eyes wide and fearful.

Isco opened his arms wide but Junior didn’t run into them. He just sat there looking the most frightened Isco had ever seen him. Which was a suitable feeling in response to Isco’s anger, except that he also looked scared that Isco would hit him. Isco would _never._ Because Isco _was_ angry. But not at Junior. He was so mad at himself. He was so _fucking mad_.

“Come here,” he whispered when Junior didn’t budge. “Come give me a hug.”

Junior hesitated for a few more seconds, then slowly got to his feet and ran straight into Isco’s arms.

“Sorry papa,” he sobbed, his warm tears falling on Isco’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Isco gave his back a few strokes. “Actually, it’s not okay. That was wrong. Okay? Don’t do that again.”

“Okay papa.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you so upset at me?”

“I miss Vazquez.”

“I miss him, too.”

“Papa we will see Vazquez again? Next time?”

“I really don’t know. I really can’t answer that.”

Junior started crying again, his chubby arms wrapping themselves more tightly around Isco’s neck. “I miss Vazquez, Vazquez play with me and listen to me, and Vazquez tell me many many stories.”

“Mmhmm, yeah?” Isco smiled, trying to swallow his sob but failing. “Yeah?”

“I love Vazquez very much.”

“Me, too,” Isco whispered. “We’ll go see him again, one day, okay? I promise. When...when everything’s okay, I’ll take you to see him and you’ll get to hang out with him again. Okay?”

“Papa do you think Vazquez love me also?”

“‘Course he does,” Isco smoothened the back of Junior’s curls. Of course Franco did. Even if he’d never said it until their very last night together, when he’d thought Isco wasn’t listening. Franco had always loved Junior. “Yeah. He loves you very much.”

“Papa I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” Isco smiled. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that...that Vazquez isn’t here. Because out of everyone else I know you like him the most.”

“Yeah, I like Vazquez most.”

“Mmhmm. And I’m sorry that...that he can’t be here. I’m so sorry. It’s just...it tears me apart every day. Just to think about him. And I keep thinking that I made a mistake. That I did something wrong. And I want him back, you know? I want Vazquez back here with us. But I did something horrible and I’m sure he’s very angry at me, and – baby, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry papa. I don’t ask about Vazquez.”

“You can ask about him,” Isco said. “Yeah. Sure you can ask.”

“I love you papa.”

“Love you too.”

Then Junior pulled away from the hug and gave Isco a really wet kiss on the cheek. He wrapped his arms around Isco’s head and hugged it tightly against him like it was a big ball. Isco couldn’t help but laugh. He loved Junior. He would do anything for Junior. Anything in the world. Even trying to get Franco back after so heartlessly throwing him aside.

Except that Isco didn’t know if Franco would forgive him. He didn’t know if Franco would ever be willing to come back into his life. And his fear of that – his fear of facing the permanence of his one fatal mistake, was enough to stop Isco in his tracks.

\------

_Dear Isco,_

_I watched your game in my hotel room in Valencia. Tucu wouldn’t let me watch it at first but he forgot that I’m bigger and stronger than him. I watched the whole thing. I saw both your goals. They were both wonderful and I’m so, so proud of you, words wouldn’t be able to describe it. Real Madrid should be proud to have you. They should be proud to play you and proud to have you as their player of the season. But even if they aren’t – given your club’s habit of misjudgement – you’ll always be the best to me._

_I love you._

_Franco_

\------

Isco was surprised to have Alvaro suddenly start talking to him again after Isco’s brace against Gijón. Sure, they had been roomies even through their lame fight, but Alvaro hadn’t voluntarily spoken to Isco nor given Isco more than one-word answers.

But on that night when they were preparing to sleep, Alvaro suddenly asked from across the space between their beds, “Hey, can I talk to you?”

Isco turned around in his bed so he was facing Alvaro, but he was unable to see Alvaro’s face so he reached over and turned the bedside lamp on. Alvaro looked. He looked a little sheepish and scared, and he had his covers all the way up to his chin.

“Yeah?” Isco said softly.

Alvaro sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“No, I,” Alvaro sighed again. He sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have been mad at you. It’s not my right. I should’ve stuck by you when you needed me and not left you alone. You’re my best friend, Isco. It’s been so weird not talking to you. And I just. I want to be there for you. Just like you’ve always been for me.”

“It’s okay,” Isco said. “I’ve...it’s not like I haven’t been the biggest idiot.”

“Yeah, I just...don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this. Like, Paulo and I both think that you made a horrible decision, you already know that. But that doesn’t mean that we should let you go through it alone.”

Isco smiled. He turned on his tummy and propped himself up using his elbows so he could see Alvaro more clearly. “Thanks, Alvaro.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m sorry, too. For being such a wreck recently.”

“Yeah, it’s...not easy. I understand.”

A short silence.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at once, then started laughing.

“So…” Alvaro said after the briefest of pauses. “Your birthday’s in less than a week.”

“Yeah,” Isco said. Honestly, he wasn’t looking forward to celebrating it. Not without Franco. He didn’t have _anything_ to celebrate.

“Got any plans?”

Isco shook his head.

“Want any?”

Isco shook his head again.

Alvaro hesitated a little before he asked, “Will you spend it at home or in Málaga?”

“Madrid, I guess,” Isco shrugged. “I think we kinda have a tight schedule.”

“Yeah, okay,” Alvaro said thoughtfully. “Cool.”

“Why?”

“Uh…” Alvaro scratched his head like he did when he was nervous. “Maybe...we could go out for a meal? Just you and me. Friends since diapers, apparently.”

Isco laughed. “Yeah. Sure. Just the both of us?”

“Yeah, like a date. You don’t have a boyfriend now, so I can date you.”

“Fuck you. I’m gonna tell Paulo.”

“He’s okay,” Alvaro said casually. He beamed at Isco when Isco narrowed his eyes.

“Hey,” Isco said. “We good now?”

“Yeah. I'm looking forward to your birthday, by the way.”

“Why? It's not your birthday. You're going to treat me like a king. Not the other way around.”

“I'm just looking forward to hanging out with you again.”

“You hang out with me every day.”

Alvaro gave a loud groan. “I'm trying to be nice here. Be a little more appreciative, won't you?”

Isco laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you.”

“Maybe hanging out with me will cheer you up again,” Alvaro mused, turning the lamp off and slipping back into a reclined position. “You know, like always, ‘cause I'm so awesome.”

Isco rolled his eyes. He lay back down and sighed.

After a short silence, Alvaro spoke, “Good night, Francisco.”

Isco smiled into his pillow. “Alvaro,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Junior keeps crying and asking about Franco,” Isco whispered. “This really is the biggest mistake of my life, isn't it?”

Alvaro went quiet for a long time, like he wasn't sure how to reply without pissing Isco off.

Then he said, out of the blue, “It’ll be okay. You two will be okay. You’ll make it right.”

“How?”

“I just know you will.”

It wasn't this often that Alvaro was so secretive about something, so Isco fell asleep intrigued – but also a little happier and more relieved than he’d been the entire month.


	35. I Love You More Than I Can Ever Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii guys!  
> So here's the finale! I'm so sorry for the super long wait! Turns out that converting my thoughts on this chapter to words actually takes a lot more time (and words) that I'd expected. Thank you all so so much for being so patient with me. This chapter is really really long, twice as long as the second longest chapter, so...grab a drink and enjoy it!
> 
> I'll be posting the epilogue and some notes again sometime this week or early the next I hope. I'm so sorry that it's taken so long, I've been so busy and everything :/ but I believe it's worth it given what's in store in this chapter and I hope you guys will think the same :) Of course, as usual, feel very free to let me know what you think! 
> 
> Thank you all so so so much again for sticking with me for so long. I will see you guys again very very soon, for the epilogue as well as part 3 and 4. Meanwhile you know you can contact me on [tumblr](ulreichs.tumblr.com), [twitter](twitter.com/debushy), or listen to the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/mandzilkos/playlist/1eyFXj6qVXAK1goeJguv5m) that I've made. 
> 
> Again, thank you, thank you, thank you, and please enjoy.
> 
> Title is from The Mortician's Daughter by Black Veil Brides (if you can, please listen to this song while reading this chapter, I'm really amazed at how well it fits! [Here's a link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_FXeoAAOn8))

 

  
  
  


Isco had training on his birthday.

It wasn’t so much of an issue to him, since he had nothing planned. Besides, his teammates even sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him after training.

The issue was how _long_ Alvaro was taking in the fucking shower.

Everyone else had long finished and gone off after getting their things. Alvaro and Isco had gone somewhere in the middle of everyone else, but Isco had to wait an extra twenty five minutes for Alvaro to be done.

“What the fuck?” Isco said when Alvaro finally appeared back in the locker room. He turned his phone screen towards Alvaro. It read 3.07. “It’s 3.07.”

“I know, I know,” Alvaro said. He didn't even sound flustered or remorseful. He just calmly but quickly packed all his things and walked to the door. “Let's go.”

“Where are we going?” Isco asked as they walked to Isco’s car. Alvaro’s car was at the mechanic and Alvaro had been leeching onto Isco for the day. “It's not even dinnertime. It's not any meal time.”

“Let me drive,” Alvaro said before Isco could climb into the driver’s seat.

“Why?”

“Just let me drive.”

So Isco let him drive, thinking maybe Alvaro had something planned. He'd brought nice going out clothes to change into after training, anyway, and made Isco do the same thing.

Alvaro drove Isco straight back home.

“This is my place, Alvaro,” Isco – very calmly, to his credit – pointed out. “You drove me back home.”

“I know,” Alvaro said. He stopped the car in the driveway and got out. “Come on. Let's go inside.”

“Why?”

“Just for a moment. C’mon. Open the door for me. I need to take something I left here.”

Isco sighed. He didn't remember Alvaro leaving anything in his place, but they were both also rather unorganized so it wouldn't surprise Isco if Alvaro had indeed forgotten something. So he got out of the car and unlocked his front door –

– And he was immediately met by a _ginormous_ group of his family and friends flooding out of the living room, screaming in haunting unison, “Surprise!”

Isco gave a loud gasp. He stared at all of them for a moment, speechless. He turned to Alvaro. Then back to the crowd. Back to Alvaro again.

“A surprise party?” he finally managed to squeak. Literally, squeak. “For me?”

Alvaro nodded and beamed proudly. “Happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday!” everyone else repeated, out of sync this time.

“Thank you,” Isco laughed. He gave a little bow.

Then Alvaro waved everyone away and they dispersed, to talk or grab some food or whatever. Isco’s parents were there with Antonio. Isco and Alvaro’s friends from Madrid. A group of Isco’s old friends from Málaga. Even their Real Madrid teammates were there. It suddenly made sense to Isco why Alvaro had spent so much time in the shower – and why all his teammates had brought nicer clothes than normal, Isco retrospectively realised – because he was probably waiting for everyone to get here first. God, Isco felt so _cheated._

“You were playing with my feelings,” Isco grumbled as Alvaro pulled him further inside. Bubu appeared and started following them.

“Shush,” Alvaro said. He suddenly turned around and yelled, really loudly, “Paulo!”

Everyone went quiet in shock and Bubu scurried away, then suddenly Paulo appeared, squeezing between two people and bounding towards Alvaro and Isco.

“You invited _Paulo?_ ” Isco asked desperately. This was so much more than Isco had anticipated. “That's – he had to take a _plane_ here.”

“‘Course I invited Paulo,” Alvaro said matter-of-factly.

“Hi!” Paulo said excitedly as he overran and crashed straight into Alvaro. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” Isco smiled. “Thanks for coming.”

“He came because he could see me,” Alvaro pointed out. “He couldn't believe I invited you,” he told Paulo.

“Wouldn't miss it,” Paulo said, though he was looking more at Alvaro than he was at Isco.

“Gross,” Isco said, rolling his eyes.

“You're gross,” Alvaro said. “C’mon, I'll show you what we planned.”

Isco let Alvaro and Paulo drag him around, each clinging onto one arm. They brought him to the snack table, where there was juice and popcorn, Isco’s favourite drink and snack. There was a half-depleted bowl of individually-wrapped chocolates. Junior was there, standing at the corner, watching everyone pass by and trying to reach for the chocolates but failing. Isco passed him one.

“Hi papa,” Junior said, taking the chocolate with his grubby hands and then reaching up for Isco to carry him.

“Hey, you,” Isco smiled. He propped Junior on his arm and opened the chocolate for him before it melted in his grasp. Junior nibbled on it as Isco, Alvaro, and Paulo watched fondly.

“Happy birthday papa,” Junior said, completely slaughtering the word ‘birthday.’

“Thank you, baby.”

“Papa is it my birthday too?”

“No, darling.”

“Birthday not same? I want birthday too.”

“In a while, yeah?” Isco laughed. “Yeah. You'll get your party.”

“Here's the food table,” Alvaro said, gently tugging on Isco’s arm and leading him towards the other living room wall.

It was a long table with three different types of pasta sitting on it. Just three buffet portions of pasta. And a half-portion each of chicken stir-fry and fish fillets, and another portion of vegetables. But, the pasta. There were probably thirty people at this party. The food could have probably fed twice that number.

“That's a lot of food,” Isco said.

“Yeah, well,” Alvaro said nervously. He turned to Paulo for help.

“We heard you like pasta,” Paulo said helpfully.

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. “Thanks.”

“The table edges are covered,” Alvaro added. “So, you know, Junior won't run into them.”

“Why no tablecloths, though?” Isco asked.

“‘Cause, like, he’ll pull it down,” Alvaro shrugged. “With all the food and everything.”

Isco beamed. “You're not so stupid.”

Alvaro shoved him in the shoulder, then got them some paper plates so they could get some food. Isco piled his plate with pasta and followed Paulo and Alvaro around, feeding both himself and Junior.

“Here's where we’re gonna put the cake, and we can take lots of photos and stuff,” Alvaro said, reaching the window to the side of the sliding door that led to the backyard. It had a large white curtain hanging over a portion of it and in front of it was a table with some flowers in the corners and an empty placeholder in the middle. There were two huge silver foil balloons in the shapes of the numbers 2 and 5, bobbing with all the movement but weighted to the ground with strings and little teddy bear weights.

“Looks great,” Isco said softly, admiring all the decorations. Junior used his hand and punched a tiny hole in Isco’s pasta heap, scooped out a single penne piece, and put it in his mouth. “That's not how you eat pasta, baby. Okay, I guess I gotta sit down and feed him first. Sorry.”

He grabbed one of Junior’s baby spoons and sat down on an empty corner of the couch to feed him. It was a little difficult, because Junior couldn’t stop babbling away. Isco timed the spoonfuls of pasta with every time Junior opened his mouth big to say a big word.

“He invited _you_ , too?” Isco groaned as Sonia appeared and sat next to Junior. “Jesus Christ.”

“You know, if you don’t want me here, you can just say so,” Sonia said.

“No, no, I’m just,” Isco sighed. “A little overwhelmed.”

Sonia laughed. “Yeah. It’s some party. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

They chatted on the couch for a while, taking turns to feed Junior. They talked about whatever. Mundane things. Junior’s preschool applications. Their lives. Summer plans, which Isco didn’t have any of yet. Sonia never once mentioned Franco or everything that had happened with him, although she very evidently had been catching up with it, given by the little melancholic glance she occasionally gave Isco. But Isco appreciated it. He and Sonia hadn’t really confided in each other about their individual romantic lives after they’d officially separated. Isco was sure neither of them were ready for that yet. Maybe they’d never be. Almost three years had already passed.

Besides, Isco was a fucking train wreck. He was lucky that Sonia hadn’t completely given up on him yet.

Then people started calling for Isco to take photos at the little photo booth thing that Alvaro had set up with the 2 and 5 balloons, so Isco left Junior with Sonia and went.

He spent some time catching up with different groups of friends, old and new, Madrid and Málaga. Some of whom Isco hadn’t gotten to have a proper catch up with for a really long time, so he really appreciated Alvaro getting them down to the party, no matter how he’d managed it. Isco smiled until his cheeks hurt and he laughed more than he had the past month.

Then Alvaro brought out the cake to a chorus of cheers; it was a half-football on a round green base, with a figurine of Isco standing atop and Junior on his shoulders. It was a really cute cake. Isco couldn’t help but laugh at it.

People crowded in for photos once it was placed on the placeholder on the table. There was almost a queue. There was a tripod set up in front of the table with a very fancy-looking DSLR on it, so Isco just stood there and waited for all the different people who wanted to take a photo with him. Which took like, a half-hour. Isco was surprised the cake hadn’t melted yet.

Alvaro appeared again with two big candles, which he stuck either side of the Isco and Junior figurine. It was followed by five smaller candles, which Alvaro lined up in a row behind the figurines. He lit them all up.

Isco was made to pose for some photos, which he did so diligently. Then everyone started singing the birthday song for him and he had no idea what to do so he just clapped along awkwardly. He clasped his hands together and made a wish before blowing the candles out.

He wished that he would have the courage to tell Franco he loved him again.

After cutting the cake into enough pieces for everyone there was still a little left over, so Isco got a small slice of it for himself. He grabbed a big bowl from the kitchen, scooped portions of each of the three pastas into it, and escaped into his room for some peace.

He sat down at the work table instinctively because he knew Franco would disapprove of him eating in bed _and_ in dirty clothes. He picked up the slice of cake and examined it. It was chocolate-flavoured, Isco’s favourite. It had cream cheese filling and the football pattern was made up of whipped cream and more chocolate cream. Isco took a bite of it; it was the most delicious cake he’d ever tasted. He took a few more eager bites before putting the paper plate down.

Then he started to cry.

He didn't know why he was crying – well, not really. He just. The party was everything Isco would have wanted if he’d planned it himself. It was _more._

There was just one thing missing.

Franco wasn't there.

Isco picked up the bowl of pasta, which he’d carefully separated into the three different types. He went for the one he hadn’t tried yet, the bacon pesto – and God, even the pasta was heavenly. The fucking pasta. Isco was – he just wanted to tell Franco about all of this. About how his friends had come for this utterly amazingly-planned surprise party for his birthday with everything Isco had ever wanted, and he wanted to introduce Franco to all his friends and listen to Franco laugh at all the old stories they had to tell. He wanted to tell Franco everything about this perfect party and he wanted Franco to know that as much as he loved it, he would give all of this up without a millisecond of hesitation if it meant he could spend his birthday with Franco by his side.

He managed to chase the lump in his throat down with the pesto. He followed it with a mouthful of carbonara, which was rich and creamy and had little mushroom bits in it which Isco loved. Isco tried desperately to sniff his tears back so he could taste it properly. It was even better than the pesto.

The last one was a ricotta-stuffed ravioli in garlic butter sauce. It melted on Isco’s tongue. It was the most perfect thing Isco had ever put into his mouth.

Isco sighed. He put the bowl down on the table. He didn’t want to be unappreciative but all of this meant nothing to him if Franco wasn’t around. His birthday meant nothing.

After a few minutes of Isco’s random sighing and binge-shoving pasta into his mouth, there was a knock at the door.

“Hey,” Alvaro said. “It’s us. Can we come in?”

Isco didn’t even have any time to reply before Alvaro pushed the door open and walked inside with Paulo in tow. Bubu bounded in after them, glad for the tiny window of opportunity before the door was shut behind them, and lay on the bed with his tongue hanging out. Paulo and Alvaro walked right up to Isco and stood on either side of him.

“Were you crying?” Alvaro asked when Isco sniffled. “You were crying.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco said. He shoved another piece of ravioli in his mouth.

A short silence.

“The ravioli’s delicious, isn’t it?” Paulo asked kindly.

“Yeah,” Isco said.

Another silence. No one seemed to know what to say or do.

“Why are you upset?” Alvaro finally asked. “Do you not like the party?”

“I do,” Isco said. He wiped the remnants of his tears away. “I love the party.”

“Then why are you hiding all alone in your room?”

“I just needed to sit down and be alone. It’s not that I’m not enjoying it. I’m having a good time. Really. I promise.”

“Okay,” Alvaro said. “But why were you crying?”

Isco shrugged. He sighed. “You guys, I – I just,” he whispered. “I really love what you’ve done for me, I love this party, it’s everything that I’d choose to do if I’d planned it. It’s...it’s more than I’ve ever wanted. It’s just – you know. I wish Franco was here. I wish he was here so he could see all these, and I could talk to him and he could meet everyone, and I could see him smile again and I just. I wish I could spend my birthday with him. But I can’t.”

Neither Paulo nor Alvaro said anything in response to that. They gave each other a glance over Isco’s head, though.

“But thank you,” Isco continued softly. He didn’t want them to think that he didn’t like what they’d planned. “I can’t believe you guys actually did this for me. This whole thing is just – it’s so amazing. Thank you. I really, really am having a good time. I can’t believe that...you know, after everything that happened. That you guys would still do this for me.”

Paulo and Alvaro exchanged another glance. Paulo gave a shrug, then a nod.

Then Alvaro grabbed Isco by the arm and dragged him outside before he could protest. Paulo scurried after them and they all ended up in the kitchen, standing next to the back door that led to a quieter side of the backyard.

Alvaro lifted the blinds off the screen and – his car was right there, in all its matted black glory, parked on the one-way street next to Isco’s backyard.

Isco narrowed his eyes. “I thought your car was at – your car isn’t at the mechanic.”

Alvaro shook his head. He gestured towards the car like he wanted Isco to look more closely.

So Isco did. He squinted a little and saw someone sitting in the driver’s seat.

“We didn’t plan this for you,” Alvaro said softly. “We executed it. We didn’t plan it at all. The credit isn’t ours. It’s Franco’s.”

Franco’s. _Franco’s._ That was _Franco_ sitting in Alvaro’s driver’s seat.

“No,” Isco whispered. He placed his palm on the window, the tip of his pointer finger touching the little figure in the car. “It can’t be.”

“You know how much effort he put into this?” Alvaro asked. “He planned this, all of this, in less than a week. He didn’t think you’d want to talk to him. So he made me do it. Paulo and I. You have _no idea_ , Isco. He’s put so much work into it. He gave me a list of people he thought you’d like to invite and he made me call all of them and invite them personally. He looked for the flowers and the balloons and the food, and he knows all your favourites so he made sure that they were all here. He even went to taste the food personally before confirming his order. He asked me to go down with him but I thought it was lame, so I didn’t. He did all of this, Isco. He’s been driving around all day in my car doing the final preparations and getting the cake. He even drew out how he wanted me to stick the candles in. And he’s just been sitting there all this time just waiting in case I have any questions or if anything happens. I was instructed to call him right away. I mean. Did you really think I’d have thought of all this? Did you really think I would’ve thought about the whole no corners, no tablecloths thing? That was _Franco_. He thought of _everything_ and he fucking gave me a list of questions he thought you’d ask and he drilled me on it so you’d believe that it was me who planned this. He doesn’t want to take credit. He just wants you to have a good time.”

And Isco was fucking _sobbing_ by the end of all that. He didn’t believe it. He still didn’t believe that Franco would do all of this for him. He wouldn’t even have believed it if _Alvaro_ had done it on his own, because after all Alvaro had been mad at Isco right before this.

“Who else knows about this?” Isco asked.

“Just Sonia and Antonio,” Alvaro said. “But only because Franco needed to know about your friends from Málaga.”

Isco stepped away from the door. “He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t. He’s mad at me.”

“He isn’t,” Paulo said softly. “He really isn’t. Look. He’s been asking me to send him photos of you looking happy at this party. He just wants you to be happy. He just wants to know that you’re having a good time. That’s all he wants. He’s put in so much effort for all this just so you’ll have a good birthday. He thinks that...that this is probably all he needs. To know that you’re happy without him. Then he can be at ease.”

Paulo passed his phone to Isco. His private conversation with Franco was opened and there was a whole string of photos that Paulo had secretly taken of Isco, like he was a paparazzo. Isco smiling at the food. Smiling at Junior. Laughing with his friends. Talking to Sonia. Having fun at his little photo booth area. Just Isco doing a bunch of stuff and looking happy. Franco hadn’t replied, but there were blue ticks next to everything.

“But I’m not,” Isco sobbed. “I’m not happy without him.”

“You should let him know that,” Alvaro said. “He’s sitting right there.”

“I can’t,” Isco whispered. His hands began to shake because he was so _nervous_ and he wanted to talk to Franco but at the same time he wasn’t sure if Franco actually wanted to see him. “No. I can’t.”

“You can,” Paulo said.

“He’s mad at me,” Isco said again.

“He isn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Trust me. Just trust me.”

“Do you think he would’ve done all of this for you if he was mad?” Alvaro pointed out. “You know how eager he was? How excited? He said it was the best idea in the world. He _made_ us do it for him. That’s why I apologised to you, idiot. You think I wanted to? I would never have. I did it because he wanted me to do this party and I couldn’t do it without getting things right with you first. Because he wanted this for you, Isco. Because he knew you’d like a party and he was upset that he couldn’t plan one for you.”

“I think part of the reason why he doesn't want you to know is that he's scared _you're_ mad at _him_ ,” Paulo added.

Isco sighed. “So I should go out there?”

Paulo and Alvaro nodded.

“What should I say?” Isco asked.

“Anything you want,” Paulo said kindly. “Everything you’ve ever thought of saying to him.”

“Look, Isco,” Alvaro said. “We were instructed not to tell you that Franco planned all this. _Never_. Our lips were supposed to be sealed forever. But we can’t do that to you two. We might be in trouble with Franco right this moment but we know that we could never keep this from you.”

Isco stepped forward and wrapped the both of them in a huge hug. They squeezed him back tightly and Isco just. Isco was so happy that he had the best friends in the entire world.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Alvaro whispered back. “Now wipe your stupid tears and go talk to the love of your life.”

Isco laughed. He pulled away and wiped his tears on the back of his hands. “I look okay?”

“Never,” Alvaro said.

But Paulo kindly handed him a tissue so he could wipe his face, then told him to fluff his hair up a little and gave him a pat on the shoulder before letting him go outside.

Isco sighed as he stepped on the patio. He walked to the side gate and opened it. The person in the car remained oblivious.

It was Franco. It was unmistakably Franco. He was wearing a cap and looking down but it was definitely him because as Isco approached from the back he saw that the magazine in Franco’s lap was opened to a page about Pluto and from the side mirror, Franco was reading it with his brows furrowed. He was wearing a nice dark red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The window was opened a little crack and Isco could hear some Spanish music playing. There were two stacks of magazines on the front passenger seat, most likely divided into read and unread. Franco’s phone was in the cup holder and he checked it to see if there were any notifications. There weren't any.

Isco took a deep breath. Franco was so engrossed in his magazine that he didn't notice Isco in the side mirror. Isco still had time to turn back.

He stopped a little behind the front door and continued watching Franco. Franco was. He was so beautiful. Even from the side and covered with a cap and looking so frustrated at Pluto and sitting all straight in the seat even though he had all the space in the world to recline. And Isco was closer to him than he had been for an entire month. A month that lasted way too long, if you asked Isco. Isco just wanted to hold him. Or talk to him. Talking to him was enough. To tell him Isco was sorry and Isco loved him and never meant to hurt him this way.

Franco flipped the page of the magazine.

Isco reached out and knocked twice on the window.

Franco startled, jumping so violently the magazine almost flew out of his hands. He took his cap off and turned warily. He gave a double take when he saw Isco.

Isco gave a lame little wave.

Franco slowly put the magazine aside. He quickly pressed the home button of his phone; there were still no notifications. Isco stepped back so Franco could open the door and get out. He shut the door with a quiet thud and stood on the pavement staring at Isco.

Neither of them said a thing, just stood there with their feet a few inches apart. Franco looked nervous. His hands were in his pockets and he was a little hunched over, and his eyes were darting around violently, like he wanted to ask if Isco _knew_ but he didn't dare to open his mouth.

“Hey,” Isco finally spoke, softly.

“Uh, hey,” Franco said after a nervous pause.

A lingering silence.

“Thank you,” Isco said quietly. He gestured in the direction of the house. “For everything.”

“Yeah, it's nothing much,” Franco smiled, and it was the most beautiful smile Isco had ever seen. “I hope you're having a good time.”

He wasn't even angry. He didn't even ask if Alvaro had ratted him out or if Paulo couldn't keep his mouth shut. He just looked. Calm. Even though Isco knew he was surely crumbling into tiny little pieces inside.

“It means a lot to me,” Isco whispered. It was nothing much to Franco, but it was far from that for Isco.

Franco nodded. He didn't say anything. He removed his gaze from Isco’s face and directed it at the ground instead.

“How've you been?” he asked, barely audibly.

“Good, yeah,” Isco said. It was a lie. He didn't know why he was lying. But he was lying.

Franco nodded. He swallowed hard. “And...and Junior?”

“He's good, too,” Isco smiled. “He misses you.”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled at the ground. “Tell him I miss him too.”

“Come inside and see him,” Isco suggested. “He'll be so happy.”

Franco shook his head. “I can't. Sorry.”

“Come in. You made all of this happen. You should have some fun too.”

“It's your party. I did it for you. I don't wanna...yeah. I shouldn't.”

“Franco.”

But Franco shook his head, so that was that.

Another longer silence. It seemed to drag on for hours.

“Are you having fun?” Franco asked.

“Yeah,” Isco said. “I am. I just...Franco. I can't – I didn't expect you to do this for me. I can't believe that you planned all this. For me. After...after everything.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Franco whispered. He hung his head even lower, like he was crying and trying to hide it from Isco. “And I hope you are. I hope you're having a good time with all your friends and family. I just. This is just what I thought you would've liked. I'm sorry if it's too much. If I did too much. I don't wanna butt into your life if you don't want me to. I didn't want you to know I planned it because I didn't want you to – I just – I just want you to be happy, okay? I didn't do this because I want to claim any credit or because I want you to feel indebted to me or because I think it'll make you want me again. I don't want anything from you at all, okay, Isco? All I want is for you to have a good time. That's all. You weren't supposed to know I was here or that I had anything to do with this. I was supposed to be anonymous in this whole thing. I'm sorry if seeing me here makes you upset. But I hope you like it and I hope you're happy, and –”

And Isco dove forwards and let himself crash into Franco for a hug. He squeezed Franco’s waist tightly and felt a wave of relief as Franco hugged him back, a bone-crushing hug that got rid of Isco’s ability to breathe. It felt like home. Franco felt like home; being in his arms hurt Isco down to his very being and it tugged at Isco’s soul but it felt like home.

“Seeing you could never make me upset,” Isco whispered, pushing his face into Franco’s chest. Franco smelled the same. He felt the same and he was big and warm and beautiful and Isco loved him with all his heart.

“I'm sorry,” Franco said again, anyway, and now he was really all-out crying. He was sobbing into the crook of Isco's neck. “I missed you so much and – I’m sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” Isco sobbed. “I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm sorry, Franco. I'm so sorry. For everything that I've done to you. I'm sorry that I – you've seen the news, right? I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that and I'm sorry I did it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Franco said. “We broke up. You're a free man and you can do whatever you like. I don't have any right to hold you accountable and I'm not going to.”

“But it just –” Isco sighed. “I regret it. I shouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry, Franco. That you had to see that.”

A short silence.

“So you're not looking for someone new?” Franco asked softly.

“No,” Isco whispered. He didn't think he would ever want to.

Franco’s arms wound more tightly around Isco. “Okay,” he whispered back.

“Are you?” Isco asked, despite being afraid to hear the answer.

“I’m not like that,” Franco whispered. “It doesn’t work like that for me. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Isco sobbed, just. Just so relieved but still so _scared_ and he didn’t know why. He wanted time to stop. He wanted to be so far from Earth that time stopped while he was in Franco’s arms, time stopped while they were flying through the galaxy between all the stars it held, and that moment with Isco fitted snugly in Franco’s arms would last for all of eternity. “Franco.”

“Yeah?”

“You forgive me?”

Franco didn’t give an answer. He just held Isco tightly and for a moment Isco thought maybe his wish had come true. Maybe time _had_ stopped and he was going to be in Franco’s arms forever. Isco didn’t mind that.

But then Franco gave a sad little sigh and Isco fell back into reality so hard it almost physically hurt. Franco _didn’t forgive him_. He didn’t say a thing, but Isco could _feel it_. Franco was _mad_ and Franco was never going to forgive Isco.

“It’s not my place,” Franco finally said in a whisper.

“I didn't mean to do it,” Isco said, suddenly desperate for Franco to understand. He didn’t want Franco to forgive him if Franco didn’t want to. He just wanted Franco to _understand._ “It was a mistake. I wasn’t looking for it, I didn’t start the night out looking for it. I was upset so I went for a drink, and I was drunk and he was drunk and I just. I don't know how it happened. I regret that entire night and the only thing I can think about since then is you. It's you, Franco. I'm just. I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Franco said. He didn’t sound mad, which was a surprise. “You're not accountable to me.”

“I think I will always be,” Isco said, his voice breaking.

Franco didn't respond to that. He just gently nuzzled his nose into Isco’s neck like he missed Isco’s scent. And Isco. Isco just wanted to stay there forever. He wanted to stay in Franco’s arms forever.

“Happy birthday,” Franco whispered. He lifted his head to kiss Isco on the temple, thinking Isco wouldn’t notice.

“Thank you,” Isco said, his body collapsing harder against Franco’s as it was rocked by a sudden sob. “Thank you.”

Franco shook his head. He hugged Isco impossibly tightly, so tightly Isco felt like maybe he was being sucked into Franco. Into Franco’s core, the core of the brightest galaxy in the universe. “You deserve to be happy,” Franco said softly.

“So do you,” Isco whispered. Guilt, the same guilt that had been haunting Isco the past month, pulled hard on his heart. He wanted to give Franco happiness. It was the _only_ thing he wanted. Yet it was also the only thing he knew he couldn’t give Franco.

Franco gave a little sad laugh. He quickly wiped his tears before pulling away from the hug. There were still a few tear streaks along his cheeks so Isco ran his thumbs along them, gently cupping Franco’s jaw. Franco did the same in return, his long fingers gentle against Isco’s beard, like he was afraid this was going to be the last time. He gently tucked Isco’s stray hair into the fluff on his head.

Then he let go of Isco and opened the back door of Alvaro’s car, reaching for a brown gift box in the backseat. He stared at it anxiously for a while before holding it out towards Isco.

“This is for you,” he said nervously. “I, uh...I wasn’t sure if you’d accept it, so I...held on to it. Yeah.”

“Thank you,” Isco said. He intentionally brushed his hands over Franco’s while receiving the box but Franco pulled them away hastily and stuffed them in his pockets. Isco felt his heart sink.

“Happy birthday,” Franco said.

Isco smiled. He hugged the box tightly against his chest. “Come inside,” he offered again.

Franco shook his head and smiled back and. And it was so bittersweet. He shut the back door and put his hand on the driver’s door handle. “I’ll stay here. You have a good time.”

“Franco.”

“Go. Your guests are waiting for their star.”

And he wouldn’t budge so Isco had no choice but to slowly back away. Franco just stood there by the car, watching him leave, an unreadable expression behind his gentle smile. He stayed in that position, gazing – lovingly, if Isco dared to say – at Isco each time Isco turned around hoping that Franco would follow him inside.

Franco didn’t. He _wouldn’t_. Isco knew him.

Isco stopped about halfway between Franco and the back door to the kitchen. Franco was still leaning against the car and smiling at him.

“I love you,” Isco whispered.

Franco didn’t hear. He didn’t respond. He just. Just smiled at Isco like Isco was the best thing he’d ever seen. Like he didn’t want to wipe that beautiful smile off his face until he was out of Isco’s sight. Like he was desperately trying to put on a strong front for Isco.

Isco blinked his tears away and stepped inside the house with his gift. Paulo and Alvaro were standing by the kitchen counter watching him warily. They looked stiff, like they’d been watching Isco and Franco through the window and had only just ran back there so they wouldn’t look suspicious. Isco peeked through the blinds and saw Franco return to the driver’s seat, not bothering to put his cap back on.

“How was it?” Alvaro asked, suddenly right behind Isco and making Isco jump.

“Um,” Isco said. He took a deep breath so he wouldn’t burst into tears. “I just. I need to open this. Alone.”

Paulo and Alvaro didn’t follow him into his room. Bubu had vacated his spot on the bed, too. Isco sat on his bed with a sigh, wondering if he was brave enough to open the box. The room was just. Just suddenly really quiet despite the fact that there was a party going on outside. And in all the sudden chaos that came with Isco finding out that Franco was behind this entire thing – there was a sea of calm. Isco actually felt calm. He was just so happy and so relieved to be able to hold Franco again, even if it had only been for a couple of minutes.

He took a few deep breaths and removed the lid of the box.

The first thing he saw was a navy blue pillow sitting right at the top, a rectangular pillow with round edges and a hole in the middle, like an oddly-shaped donut. It fit snugly into the box, like the box was made for it. The tag attached to it contained instructions on how using it to sleep could soothe neck pains. Isco read it with a smile, and then put the pillow down and lay on it horizontally across the bed, above the covers because he was dirty. His head fit comfortably into the little indent in the middle of the pillow, the back of his head cosily in the hole. The sides were thicker so it provided adequate support to Isco’s neck even when he turned to the side.

Isco rolled over on his tummy and slid his arm into the hole like the instruction tag showed. He rested his cheek on the pillow. It was comfortable this way, too, and now Isco could sleep at his work table without Franco yelling at him.

Though fuck that, never mind, Franco wasn’t around to yell at him anyway.

Below the pillow in the box was a square photo album. It was silver-coloured and the front cover was spongy. There was a little photo frame thing in the middle. It contained a photo of Isco and Junior grinning at each other. Isco lifted it out of the box and hugged the pillow to him as he flipped it open.

A soft melody started to play when Isco opened it, not unlike those in musical boxes. It was the tune of You Are My Sunshine. Isco shut the album and it stopped. It continued where it’d left off when Isco opened it again.

The album’s pages were made of really thick paper, each page holding two or three photos. It looked like those that could be bought at a gift store and brought home to be decorated. Every slot was filled with photos of Isco and Junior, arranged chronologically, not just the most recent ones but also from way before, when Junior was tiny. Franco must’ve stolen them from the photo album in Isco’s phone, Isco bet. The empty spaces between the photo slots were littered with cute stickers and quotes that matched the paper and colour of the album. Franco had probably bought the entire set and put it all together with his nimble hands. The thought of it made Isco – it made him happy and sad at the same time. Because Franco _did this_. After everything that Isco had done to Franco, Franco was still willing to do so many things for Isco. Just so Isco would be happy.

Isco hated that there wasn’t a single photo with Franco inside it. But he also understood why.

He wiped the tear that had fallen on the corner of the final page. He waited for the melody to finish playing out before closing the book, so it’d start from the beginning the next time Isco opened it.

He thought that was it. He thought that was all of his gifts from Franco. He had almost placed the lid on the box when he saw it.

A light brown envelope sitting at the bottom of the box, its colour almost camouflaging it completely.

Isco dug his nails under it and scooped it out from where it was, plastered to the bottom of the box. On the front of it, in the exact middle, Franco had written, _Things I never got to say to you._

It was a little padded. Isco opened it with shaking hands.

Inside it was a stack of folded letters, each labeled with a date on the front. There were about ten of them. Isco poured them all out and arranged them according to their dates.

He picked up the first one and opened it, but folded it back without reading it. He was suddenly. Suddenly just really _frightened._ What had Franco wanted to say to him? Did Franco even have any room in him to contain any more concern and positive feelings towards Isco that he could actually put into words? Or was Isco going to be met by all of Franco’s frustrations, condensed into a few pieces of paper; frustrations that Isco knew were more than just that, that were more than just a few words? Frustrations so intense and concentrated that Isco wouldn’t be able to finish reading the first sentence? Franco had never used words as his weapon, but Isco had not a sliver of a doubt that Franco was able to if he put his mind to it.

Isco stared at the little rectangles of paper laid out in front of him. He didn’t know if he was brave enough to open them. The guilt of leaving Franco haunted him every living second. And now – now he was going to hear Franco’s side of it.

But Franco must’ve put them there for a reason. He _must have_. He _wanted Isco to read them_. Which was fair. It was completely fair. Isco had never given Franco a chance to say what he thought. Isco had – Isco had had plenty of chances. Everything he’d wanted to say, he’d said. Franco hadn’t gotten that luxury. Or rather, Isco hadn’t given it to him.

So maybe he owed Franco at least this.

He picked up the first letter again, dated the 24th of March. The start of the international break. Just a couple of days after Isco had left him.

Franco had seen Isco’s goal. He had seen it and he had been watching and he was proud of Isco, and suddenly Isco realised it was all he needed.

The rest of the letters followed the same note. Franco watched and he enjoyed and he wanted to let Isco know how proud he was so he wrote it all down. Isco read every word, he read _every word_ and halfway through the pile of letters he started to cry because he just. He wanted to talk to Franco. He wanted to hear Franco tell him all of these in his own voice. Isco could listen to Franco’s voice forever. He _would_.

The letter Franco had written after seeing the news of Isco with the French dude broke Isco’s heart. He didn’t sound mad. Not at all. He sounded really sad and Isco was so _heartbroken_ and he couldn’t believe he’d gone and fucking done _that_ to Franco. Even if it was an accident. Part of him wanted Franco to be mad at him. But he also understood that Franco thought he had no right. That Franco thought that this breakup meant that Franco was no longer allowed to be angry at Isco for what Isco did. Although Isco technically _hadn’t_ cheated. But to Isco, he had. To Franco, he should have, too. Because Isco’s heart would _always_ belong to Franco. He wished Franco knew that.

Some of the letters didn’t even come with a match or any particular reason. They were just random little notes of affection, just like the texts of affection Franco used to send Isco when he was bored and thinking of Isco. Franco just. He kept saying that he wanted Isco to be happy. But Isco wasn’t. Isco thought maybe he would never be happy again.

He was a sobbing mess when he reached the very last letter, dated 20th April. Just the previous day.

He opened it hesitantly, desperate and curious and so _eager_ to read what Franco had to say but also reluctant to read it because it was the last one.

_Dear Isco,_

_I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know where it went wrong. I can’t think of anything I would have wanted to change about our relationship. It was perfect. You were perfect. You still are. You will always be. I don’t understand why we’ve become like this. What did I do wrong? What do you want from me? I’ll change. I’ll change anything about myself that you want me to. I’d give anything in the world to have you back again. I’d go back in time and I’d relive that very day I decided not to tell you about the fans attacking me, and I’d do it differently, if that’s what made you so mad. I’m sorry. I’ve said this so many times but I feel like it will never be enough, that you will never forgive me. I’m trying so hard. I’m trying so hard to figure it out but I can’t, and I’m trying so hard to be mad at you but I can’t, either. I can’t be mad at you. Because I know, even though I’m sad and confused, that you are only trying to protect me like I tried to protect you. I wish it could happen some other way while we are still together. Because you promised me, Isco. You promised me that no matter what other people said, that we would always be together and that you would always love me. Part of me still wants to believe that was true but part of me has given up. I hope one day we will both be okay. I love you. I always will and I don’t know what to do about it._

_I hope you like everything I’ve planned for you. It’s not a bribe or a peace offering or for me to hold leverage against you. It’s nothing. It’s just a gift. Because I love you and I want you to have the best birthday in the world with all your favourite food and your favourite people, and because I want you to be happy and I have to accept that it can happen without me. Because it hurts my heart every time I think of you but I never want to stop because you are the most beautiful person I will ever meet._

_Anyway...take care of yourself._

_Love always,  
Franco_

One of Isco’s tears fell on the paper right at the end of Franco’s name, and Isco hurriedly dabbed at it to dry it. Isco had been wrong to ask for Franco’s forgiveness. Because Franco _didn’t blame Isco for anything_. Franco blamed _himself_. And he hadn’t been able to figure it out because of exactly that. Because he was subconsciously mad at himself.

Just like Isco had been mad at himself and made Franco suffer for it.

Franco was so kind. He was so kind and so rational and he was the calm to all of Isco’s chaos. Even after all that Isco had done, after how much Isco had hurt him, Franco was still the same. He still cared about Isco and he did things for Isco that he thought would make Isco happy. Isco didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve someone like Franco.

All Isco wanted to do right then was tell Franco he was sorry. He’d already done so, earlier, but he just. He just wanted to say it again. And again and again and again. Because Paulo and Alvaro had been right. Franco wasn’t mad at Isco. And Isco had just been – he’d just been wallowing in self-pity and been so _selfish_ and _stubborn_ and he’d refused to make things right with Franco even though it was becoming more and more evident that neither of them wanted this.

Isco read the last letter again, word by word, slowly, examining each little detail of Franco’s handwriting. It was big and scrawly but neat. It was straight even though the paper had no lines to follow. He dotted all his i’s and crossed all his t’s, and he never let the last letter of a word trail on for too long. There was a little dried droplet of water in the middle of the letter, right after Franco had written ‘I love you,’ like he’d cried on it and then wiped it away like Isco had just done.

Seeing Franco again after so long had only served to remind Isco for one last, most impactful time – he had made the biggest mistake of his life by leaving Franco.

He had gone back on his promise. He had hurt Franco and he hadn’t been there for Franco when Franco was hurt and needed him. He had let outsiders dictate their relationship instead of taking it slowly, at their own speed, like he and Franco had agreed on. He had made the decision to leave on his own without taking Franco’s feelings into consideration.

He had done every single thing he had promised Franco he wouldn’t do.

But it wasn’t too late.

Isco knew that now. It wasn’t too late. With Franco, it was never going to be too late. Because Franco, for some unfathomable reason, _loved Isco_ , and would provide Isco with all the patience in the world. Because Isco realised he had been so _stupid_ to dare to do such a heartless thing to Franco and then cower in fear of Franco being angry at him; he had been so stupid to ever think that Franco would even be angry at him. Because Isco had been way too impulsive but for some reason, Franco would always be there waiting with open arms whenever Isco made a wrong decision and had to go back to him crying. Because Franco always, _always_ stood up for the people he loved, no matter how much they hurt him.

Because Franco would always have forgiveness to offer Isco and Isco decided right then that he wasn’t going to take it for granted. He wasn’t sure if he was reading Franco right, but he knew he would rather die than not take this chance.

He put the letters back in the envelope, and the envelope back in the box together with all his other presents. Then he rummaged in his desk drawer for a blank piece of paper and sat down to write. He didn’t even think. He just wrote whatever that came to his mind – it turned out to just be two sentences that encompassed everything he wanted to say to Franco in a way Franco would definitely understand.

Then he folded it up and brought it outside to hand to Franco personally, intentionally swerving to avoid Paulo and Alvaro curiously reaching out for him.

Because all that was on Isco’s mind was Franco, and until he got Franco back, Isco wasn’t going to waste his energy on anything else.

\------

Franco had just gotten back to his magazine when there was another set of raps on his window.

He sighed. He had literally spent the last thirty minutes just sitting there sobbing his face off. He was tired. He just. He wanted to sleep.

He wiped off the tear streaks he knew were still on his face. He put the magazine aside and turned to the window.

Isco was standing there, bending over so he could see Franco through the window. There was a piece of paper in his hand. He slipped it through the little gap in the window which Franco had left for ventilation. It floated gracefully down and landed nicely on Franco’s lap as Franco watched.

Franco turned back to Isco, who gave a little eyebrow raise and gestured to the piece of paper.

So Isco _had_ read all the letters. Why, then, did he look so calm? Sure, his eyes were red-rimmed, but to be fair, so were Franco’s, because they’d both been crying like gigantic babies just a while earlier. But other than that, Isco looked so. So zen. He gestured to the piece of paper again.

Franco picked it up and unfolded it.

There were just two lines written on it, at the very middle, in Isco’s untidy handwriting.

_My universe is pitch black without you.  
WIll you light it up with me again?_

Franco turned back to the window. Isco was still standing there and peering curiously at Franco. Franco wound the window down further.

“I didn’t plan this party for you so you would want me back,” he said.

“I know,” Isco said.

“I’m not asking for anything.”

“I know.”

“I’m not making you do this. You don’t have to do this. You can just live your life however you want to. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

“I know.”

A mini staring contest ensued. God, Isco was so fucking infuriating. He was so annoying like a little pest but God help Franco, Franco loved him with all his heart.

Isco took a step back as Franco opened the car door. Their eyes remained locked as Franco shut it behind him and stood against it warily, not entirely sure what Isco wanted from him, but.

But a hundred percent crystal clear about what he wanted himself.

He took one step towards Isco, closing the gap between them, and grabbed Isco’s face in his hands.

He leaned over and pressed his lips on Isco’s, softly and hesitantly, the rush it sent through his veins almost knocking him off his feet.

Isco took a second to respond – a single second in which Franco’s entire world stopped as he thought that he was wrong, that he had been wrong and Isco didn’t want him to _kiss him_ , and God, Franco started having a panic attack so he pulled away to gauge Isco’s facial expression and then.

And then Isco pulled him back in and started kissing him back, his hands gently grasping at the sides of Franco’s shirt, lips working Franco’s in a way that was warm and familiar and which Franco had missed dearly and been craving for every second of every day. In a way that was as if he’d pulled Franco back underwater and taken his breath away, but a way which Franco knew even if it was going to lead to his death, that Franco would gladly accept nevertheless. In a way that uncrushed his spirit, that put all his broken pieces back together. And Franco. Happiness was the liquid running through his blood vessels. Not blood. His heart was pumping _happiness_.

“I love you,” Isco whispered, stubby fingers tugging on Franco’s shirt to pull him closer. “I love you and I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for hurting you and I’m sorry I took you for granted, I’m sorry I left you and I’m sorry I slept with that dude. I’m sorry. I can’t ever say this enough.”

“Shut up,” Franco murmured in between kisses. Even in a situation like this, Isco couldn’t stop babbling away. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“I love you,” Isco sobbed.

It was the most soothing sound in the universe. Those three words in Isco’s voice. And Franco – Franco had been trying so hard to be strong all this while, trying to convince himself otherwise but he could never run away from this one fact: Isco saying those three words to Franco was the only thing that could ever save Franco.

“I love you, too,” Franco whispered.

“Yeah?” Isco continued sobbing. “You do? You still do?”

“Of course. I always will. I don’t think – I don’t think I know how to stop.”

“Don’t you ever dare,” Isco breathed against Franco’s lips as he pulled away and pressed his head on Franco’s.

Franco smiled. He wrapped one of his arms around Isco’s waist and the other hand around the back of Isco’s head to press his cheek against Franco’s chest. Franco just. He wanted to hold Isco forever and he couldn’t believe this was _happening._

“Pinch me a little,” he said. “So I know it’s real.”

Isco grabbed a piece of Franco’s love handle and gave it a little twist, and it hurt so Franco winced. “Now?” Isco asked.

“I said a little.”

“That’s a little.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, did it work?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the issue?”

Franco sighed. He could never win. He could _literally never win_ with Isco.

But he was just so happy that they could be normal again. That they could bicker and fight and do lame shit while just standing there and hugging each other like it wasn’t the most ironic thing ever. Franco knew that this wasn’t the end – in fact, it was a whole new beginning – and that they had millions of things they had to talk about. That they had to get through all over again. But Franco didn’t mind. Franco would literally walk through a burning house for Isco.

“I was lying earlier. I’m not doing good. Not without you,” Isco whispered when Franco didn’t say anything. “Franco, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Franco whispered back. He wrapped both his arms around Isco’s waist and tugged him upwards for a kiss, and he felt Isco going on his tiptoes which made Franco smile really big. “Hey. It’s really okay.”

“It’s not,” Isco said, his voice thick again. “It’s not and I’m sorry and I just –”

“Shhh,” Franco whispered. He squeezed Isco tight. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“We have to talk about it.”

“Later.”

“‘Kay,” Isco sighed. He hooked his hands together behind Franco’s neck so he was half hanging off Franco like a sloth. “Will you come inside now?”

And right then Franco heard loud cheering from behind Isco, and he looked up to see this huge group of people just standing at Isco’s sliding door and whooping at them, and he saw Paulo and Alvaro fucking peeking through the little window in the back door. He turned to Isco and saw that Isco had also turned curiously and was furrowing his brows in their direction.

“Your friends are weird,” Franco said.

“You invited them,” Isco pointed out.

Franco couldn’t argue with that. “How long do you think they’ve been watching us?”

“Paulo and Alvaro have been watching us forever.”

As if on cue, the back door suddenly opened and Alvaro almost fell through it while screaming, “Why did you make me do all this when you were just going to do that anyway?”

Then Paulo pulled him back inside, looking super embarrassed, and shut the door – but only to have it open just a second later and Alvaro barging outside again, this time yelling, “Take him inside, Isco, you fucking idiot!”

Isco gave a little ‘tsk.’ He turned back to Franco and Franco smiled at him. He couldn’t help it. It was like Franco’s lips were programmed to turn upwards whenever they saw Isco.

“Come inside?” Isco whispered.

“That sounds dirty,” Franco whispered back, booping Isco’s nose with his own.

Isco gave him a smack on the chest. “Shut the fuck up.”

Franco laughed. He pressed his lips on Isco’s again and heard the whooping come back so he pulled away, blushing. Then he let go of Isco reluctantly and opened the backdoor to reach for the things he’d left in the backseat.

“Um, I, uh,” he showed Isco what he was holding. A huge Lego farm set and a picture book of the 26 alphabets for Junior, and a set of matching t-shirts for Isco and Junior. “I bought some stuff, uh...for Junior.”

Isco smiled. He took the matching t-shirts from Franco and laughed when he saw the graphic on it, a round pizza missing a slice on the adult shirt, and that missing slice of pizza on the kid’s shirt. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. Isco’s hair had fallen all over his face so Franco smoothened it back, only to reveal tears streaming down Isco’s cheeks. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just,” Isco sobbed. “You keep doing things for me, like this party and all these gifts, and I –”

“Don’t say it.”

“– just feel like I’m never going to be enough.”

“Alarcon.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” Franco gently wiped Isco’s cheeks with his free thumb. “You know that. I always will. I don’t need you to do anything. Okay? I’ve said this a thousand times.”

“But do you want me to?”

“If you want to, yeah,” Franco said. “But you’re fucking horrible at it.”

Isco gave this half-laugh, half-sob. “I am.”

“And admit it, I’m great at it.”

“You are. You’re amazing at it.”

“Would you like me to do these fancy things for you?” Franco asked.

“Of course,” Isco said. “I just. I don’t need them.”

“But you want them.”

Isco nodded sheepishly.

“So I’m going to do them because I like doing them and you like getting them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Look, Isco. You were the one who said we shouldn’t follow any sort of rules. We make our own. And we don’t have to both want the same things. We don’t need the same things. That’s fine. I love showering you with random things and you love getting them. I don’t particularly feel a liking for having it done to me. That’s fine. You get it? That’s fine and we just. You just don’t have to feel like you have to do it for me. Okay? It’s just – just that you love me, and that will always, _always_ be enough for me. So now we’re deciding that this whole gift thing, it doesn’t have to go both ways. Okay? Deal?”

Isco nodded obediently. “Deal.”

“Now will you take me inside or should I sit in Alvaro’s smelly car?”

Isco laughed and. And it was like music to Franco’s ears. He wiped his tears and hooked his arm in Franco’s as they started walking back towards the house. “I told him not to drop his taco everywhere but he couldn’t help it.”

“You mean I’ve been sitting on dried up taco filling all this time?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Isco laughed again and Franco felt everything shift back into place.

They entered through the back door to rapturous applause from all of Isco’s friends, and Franco was so fucking _embarrassed_ he suddenly just wanted to dig a hole in the ground and disappear into it for a while.

But Isco. Isco gladly basked in all the attention, beaming at everyone and letting himself be dragged away by different groups of friends. Franco followed, not because he actually wanted to but because Isco’s arm was still firmly hooked around his.

They flitted from friend group to friend group for about twenty minutes, with Isco telling every single person that Franco was the one who organised this party, not Alvaro. And he looked really proud of that fact, too, which warmed Franco’s heart into a puddle of goo.

They also ran into Isco’s parents and Antonio, the former being relieved to see Franco back. And then even happier to hear that Franco had been responsible for this party.

And then suddenly there was the loudest, most high-pitched little baby yell from across the room, “Vazquez!!!”

They turned to see Junior start charging out of Sonia’s arms, leaping off the couch and landing on his hands and knees. He got up and didn’t bother dusting himself off before he ran in Franco’s direction, weaving between all the adults’ legs and crashing into Franco’s calves, wrapping his arms around them and pressing his cheek into Franco’s knees.

“Hi Vazquez!” he screamed.

Franco laughed, and he felt his cheeks flush even redder because suddenly everyone was looking at him again. He put Junior’s presents down and pried Junior off his legs before squatting down in front of him. “Hey, you.”

“Vazquez I miss you very many!”

“Yeah?” Franco smiled. He gently jiggled Junior’s cheek. “Me, too.”

“Vazquez papa miss you very many too.”

“Yeah?” Franco said again. He glanced at Isco, who was trying to shush Junior from where he was, but was failing spectacularly. “He does?”

“Papa very sad with no Vazquez,” Junior said, pouting. Then his face lit up as he said, “Vazquez today papa’s birthday.”

“Mmhmm,” Franco smiled. He picked Junior up and put him on his arm. “Yeah, it is. Are you having fun?”

“Very fun,” Junior said happily. “Vazquez wanna play with me?”

“Sure,” Franco said. He picked up the Lego set and the picture book and brought Junior to his play area, sitting down with him and watching him entertain himself. Isco had disappeared into the crowd again, evidently having gotten pulled away by another group of friends. Franco didn’t mind. He wanted Isco to enjoy himself and catch up with all his friends. He was fine just hanging out with Junior.

Sonia came and sat by them, acknowledging Franco with a nod and a smile. Junior curled up in her lap for a few moments before getting distracted by his other toys.

“This is a great party,” she finally said.

“Thanks for your help planning it,” Franco said softly.

“Yeah, I didn’t do much,” Sonia laughed.

A short, rather awkward silence.

“Thank you for taking such good care of Junior,” Sonia said.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” Franco smiled. “He’s a great kid.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I mean, I don’t wanna come across like I’m trying to take your place or anything –”

“I know,” Sonia interrupted with a kind smile. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I think it’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s my child. I want the best for him and it makes me so happy that there’s someone who loves him just as much as Isco and I do. That there’s someone who will take care of him and give him the world.”

Franco smiled. “He deserves it.”

“I’m happy that Isco found you,” she continued softly. “You’re so good for him and you make him so happy. I don’t know what happened between you two but I’m so glad that you two are okay now. I think the three of you...you’d make such a good family.”

“You’re part of it, too.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you.”

“How about we just not thank each other?”

“Okay, good idea.”

“Okay but one last one. Thank you for inviting me today.”

“Yeah, of course,” Franco smiled. “Wouldn’t be the same here without you.”

They talked for a while, just about their lives. Sonia was really friendly and mild and just. Just a less intense copy of Isco, honestly. But she laughed as loudly as he did and at the tiniest jokes, too. Talking to her was really refreshing.

She left when some of her Málaga friends came to drag her somewhere. Then Lucas and Marco swung by, almost immediately like they’d been just creeping around like vultures waiting for Sonia to leave. Isco was chasing after them with this really worried look on his face.

“Hey!” they said in unison as they braked right next to Franco. They had eager looks on their faces like they were little children.

“Hi,” Franco smiled.

“Leave him alone,” Isco said anxiously, grabbing the back of their shirts and tugging. He didn’t succeed.

“We heard you planned this thing,” Marco said.

“Yeah, I did,” Franco said shyly.

“It’s great,” Lucas said.

“Thank you.”

“He keeps saying you’re doing good to the Vazquez name,” Marco added.

“I didn’t!” Lucas retorted. “I didn’t,” he told Franco.

“Uh huh,” Franco laughed. For some reason it was hard to take Lucas’ side.

“Anyway we’re happy to see you again,” Marco said happily. “And can we take some pasta home?”

Franco started laughing even more loudly and Lucas made some remark about how he should teach Marco to be more subtle. “Ask him,” Franco said, gesturing to Isco, who was standing behind Marco and Lucas with his arms crossed and this really angry look on his face. “It’s his pasta.”

They turned to Isco questioningly, and Isco threw his hands in the air in desperation. “Do whatever,” he told them. “Just don’t bother Franco.”

And that sent them off to the kitchen to get some plastic containers or whatever. The food table still had a ton of food. It wasn’t too bad that they wanted to take some home. Franco was beginning to think that he’d ordered too much food.

“Hey,” Isco said, sitting down next to Franco. “How you doin’?”

Franco smiled. “I’m good, yeah. Where’s Paulo and Alvaro?”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty surprised they haven’t pounced on us,” Isco said thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re somewhere making out.”

“And the thought that they’re somewhere in your house making out doesn’t disgust you?”

Isco’s brows furrowed violently. “It does.”

Franco laughed, and Isco smacked him hard on the arm which only made him laugh even harder. Then they got up, deposited Junior with Sonia, and went in search of Paulo and Alvaro.

They turned out to not be making out somewhere, but just standing in the kitchen feeding each other mouthfuls of pasta like a couple of gross lovebirds.

“Oh, thank God,” Isco said. “I thought you two were making out somewhere in my house.”

“We’re not you,” Alvaro said casually. He opened his mouth and Paulo stuffed a spoonful of pesto in it. “Anyway, welcome back, Franny.”

“Only I can call him Franny,” Isco grumbled.

“Welcome back, Franco,” Alvaro said without missing a beat.

“You should be welcoming _me_ back, since you three have been ostracising me,” Isco pointed out.

“You deserve it,” Alvaro said. “Anyway, I said Franny, which was non-specific, but you didn’t like that, so don’t say I didn’t try.”

Isco raised his middle finger at Alvaro and Franco laughed.

Alvaro picked up two of the pasta bowls on his palm and wrist and gestured for Paulo to grab the last one as he took Paulo’s hand and led him outside. “C’mon, let’s go, baby. He thinks he’s the birthday boy so he can act all bossy.”

“I _am_ the birthday boy,” Isco mumbled angrily. “And I can be all _bossy_ because _today_ is _my day._ ”

Franco laughed softly. Isco was such a grumpy little shit and Franco was so here for it. He would give the _world_ to Isco if he could. “You can be bossy with me every day.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. He leaned into Franco for a hug. “Franco, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“This is the best birthday gift ever,” Isco whispered. “You coming back to me.”

Franco smiled. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Hands down the best.”

“I love you.”

“Me, too,” Isco nuzzled the front of Franco’s shirt. “Franco.”

“Yeah?”

“We really need to talk.”

“I know,” Franco said. “And we will. I promise. Okay? When everyone’s gone home and...and I can stay the night, if you’ll let me –”

“Of course I’ll let you.”

“– and we can have a long, long talk about everything, okay?”

“Okay,” Isco said. “You gotta be crazy if you think I’m not making you stay the night. I wanna fall asleep with you. I want your arms to be my blanket and I want to wake up to your dumb sleeping face and taste your disgusting morning breath.”

Franco laughed. “Gross,” he said, poking Isco on the nose.

“I just,” Isco sighed, and he sounded like he was crying again. “I’m sorry. I have so many things to tell you and so many things I hope you’ll understand, and I’m just. I’m scared that – I just. I don’t know what to do or what to say and –”

“Okay, okay,” Franco whispered. He shut his eyes as tears welled up in them because – because he was scared, too. He was scared out of his wits because what if this was just a dream and after having their talk, Franco woke up and was alone again? What if he said something wrong? But he just. He had to be strong for Isco. “We’ll make it right. Yeah? We’ll make it right.”

Isco nodded and went quiet for a while, just swaying gently side to side along with Franco, his sobs petering out. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“No, I’m sorry,” Franco said into his hair, his fingers gently running through it. “I’m sorry that you’re crying because of me. I’m sorry I made you feel like this, like...like you don’t know what to do.”

Isco shook his head. “It's my own fault.”

“It's not,” Franco said, taking Isco’s head in his hands and shaking it. “It's not your fault. I mean, I know...I know that you think you made a mistake. I – I just. It's not. It's not just your fault. Okay? It's some of mine, too.”

Isco shut his eyes and nodded. He leaned into Franco’s grasp and sighed.

“I love you,” Franco whispered, and Isco smiled. And that was all Franco wanted. It was _all_ Franco would _ever want._ To tell Isco he loved him and to see Isco smile.

Franco got a glass of water for Isco, who gulped it down in like, two seconds. Then they went outside only to run into Paulo and Alvaro again, and they'd finished their pasta stash and were demanding to take photos with Isco and Franco. They had no choice but to oblige because Paulo and Alvaro practically dragged them to the photobooth area.

Then they had a little four-way argument about how they were going to stand for their photo because they settled into Franco, Isco, Alvaro, and Paulo in that order but in Isco's words they ‘looked like piano keys’ so they had to change places. And then Franco and Alvaro didn't want to stand together, so there was a little scuffle and in the end Isco and Paulo ended up standing in the middle with Franco and Alvaro by their sides.

“I don't get how this was so hard for all of you,” Antonio said from behind the camera, one hand resting on it. “Are you ready now, or?”

“We’re ready,” Isco said.

“Look, I didn't have anything to say, okay,” Paulo chimed in. “I was okay with whatever. It's all them.”

There were like, seven more seconds of bickering before Antonio said really loudly, “If you guys don't shut up I'm just going to take the photo and I don't care that you're all gonna be arguing in it.”

So they shut up, all four of them, and posed for the photos.

Paulo and Alvaro left and stood next to Antonio so Franco and Isco could take photos of their own, and it took a really long time because Franco decided he’d like every aspect of every photo to be perfect and he almost had an aneurysm when he saw that in the first set of photos they took, the 2 and 5 balloons weren't facing the front. Paulo and Alvaro looked so _done_ with him but Isco gladly helped him adjust the balloons and everything else so it was picture perfect, like he just _understood_ how much this meant to the both of them, this day and this party and those photographs.

They were done after Franco looked through and approved their photos, but then Junior came bounding by, followed closely by Bubu, and the whole process restarted – but not after Franco made Isco and Junior change into their new matching t-shirts. Paulo and Alvaro finally had enough and left, but Antonio was kind enough to stay and help take the photos.

In the midst of all the action and the different groups of people Franco felt – he felt strangely calm. Despite all the people milling around he felt like he and his fun-sized Alarcons were the only ones in the room. And Franco loved them. He loved them with all his heart, with every fiber of his being, and as he stood there watching Isco entertain Junior and listening to Junior giggling, he realised that no amount of hurt could ever take that feeling away from him.

\------

It was way past dinnertime when Isco finally got all the guests out of his house.

Most of his guests had their own transport, but Isco sent his family to the hotel they were staying at before returning home to clean up.

He stepped into the house to see Franco standing at the buffet table with Junior on his arm, nodding along to Junior’s babbling while he used his free hand to scoop the leftover pasta into tupperware containers. Junior occasionally asked a question or for a kiss and Franco obliged each time, patiently answering him or leaning over and planting a little kiss on Junior’s nose.

They both turned curiously when Isco stopped next to them, Junior’s tiny hands on Franco’s cheeks, squishing them. Isco couldn’t help but laugh because Franco looked so ridiculous and Junior looked so proud of himself.

“What?” Franco asked. He looked. He looked exhausted. And also a little sad.

“Nothing,” Isco smiled. He tiptoed and kissed Franco on his lips, and then Junior on his little fingers.

Franco smiled back. He tilted his chin towards the half-cleared snack table, on which was lying his space magazines. His duffel bag sat under the table. “Paulo and Alvaro just left.”

“Without helping? Rude.”

“I asked them to go. They wanna have their alone time or whatever.”

“Yeah, okay,” Isco said softly. He helped Franco collect the rest of the pasta and kept it in the fridge. When he came back outside, Franco had gotten some of the remaining juice in a cup and was currently feeding Junior with a straw. “I’m sorry there isn’t any cake left for you. It tasted really good, though.”

Franco laughed. “Yeah, I tasted it before I chose it. I’m glad you like it.”

“Did you like it too?”

“Yeah. And there’s some more cake, you know?”

“There is?”

“Yeah. The bakery made it in the wrong size so I had them redo it and I paid for both. It’s somewhere in your fridge.”

“So I have more of the delicious cake?”

“Mmhmm. I thought you’d want more, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Isco whispered.

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. He made brief eye contact with Isco before passing Junior to him. “Papa will take you for a bath while I clean everything up, okay?”

“Vazquez bath,” Junior said, reaching over towards Franco and grabbing two fistfuls of Franco’s sleeve. “I wanna Vazquez bath.”

“You take him,” Isco said. “I’ll clean up.”

“Okay,” Franco whispered. He gave Isco another shy smile before taking the excited Junior from him.

“Hey,” Isco stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I just,” Franco shrugged. “You know...I don’t wanna just come back in and just – you know, just barge into things I...that are yours.”

“You belong here.”

“I know you think so, but I just –”

“Don’t say anything,” Isco interrupted. He took Franco’s free hand and placed it on Junior’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. Just take him and go have a nice bath and a good time together because I know you both want to.”

Franco smiled, though his lips trembled. “Okay,” he whispered again, and then leaned over to kiss Isco gently on the lips. It was hesitant, just like the rest of Franco’s kisses had been that day, like he was afraid that if he took one wrong step, Isco would run away again.

Isco pulled him in for a harder kiss, his hand around the back of Franco’s neck, lucky that Junior was too distracted by the folds of Franco’s sleeve to notice. He felt a wave of relief as Franco melted into the kiss, a little at first, then all at once. And Isco just. Isco could stand there and kiss Franco forever.

Franco was smiling when he pulled away and Isco’s heart felt so warm. He looked more comfortable as he took Junior over to his duffel bag and dug in it for some fresh clothes and then disappeared down the hallway towards the bedroom, his deep voice narrating a random story to Junior all that was left behind for Isco’s senses.

Isco cleared up the rest of the rubbish into a couple of black rubbish bags and left them outside the front door. He folded the tables and placed them at the side against the wall, and then went over to the photo area and stood in front of it, admiring it. It was so simple yet so elegant, and Isco didn’t want to take it down. He just. He just wanted it to be there.

He checked under the tablecloth – the only tablecloth in the whole party, and even then it was tied to the table legs so Junior couldn’t pull it down – and saw that it was his own back patio table, which made him smile. He didn’t have to return the table. So he could just leave his little birthday corner up with all its balloons and flowers.

Retrospectively, Isco realised that this entire party screamed Franco Vazquez. From the friend groups invited – Isco would never have invited all his friends from Málaga because it was so much trouble for them but of course Franco had, because he knew how social Isco was and how he’d like all his friends in one place – to the immaculate choice in decorations, to the meticulous organisation down to every smallest detail like the tablecloths, to the food – _God,_ all the food that Isco loved. All the _fucking pasta._ Everything screamed Franco and Isco had been too blinded by misunderstanding to have seen it.

Isco wandered to the bathroom and stood at the half-open door. Franco and Junior were in the tub, covered with bubbles. Franco had Junior in his lap and was scrubbing him with a green loofah and singing a song to him as he giggled – the song from Scooby-Doo, but instead of singing ‘Scooby Dooby Doo’ he was singing ‘scrubby dubby doo’ and God, Junior was _so fucking entertained._

“You like that, huh?” Franco asked with a big smile in between all of Junior’s laughter. “You like my new song?”

“I like,” Junior said. “Vazquez what is scrubby dubby doo?”

“It’s like Scooby-Doo but with scrubs.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re doing some scrubbing now. It makes us clean.”

“Scooby-Doo doing scrubbing too?”

“Mmhmm. Scooby Dooby Doo does scrubby dubby doo.”

“Vazquez then it should be ‘scrubby dubby dub.’”

Franco burst into loud, adoring laughter. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Yeah. Scrubby dubby dub.”

Franco smiled widely at him. He wiped some soap suds off Junior’s cheek. “Smart boy.”

“I’m smart boy?” Junior asked with a wide grin.

“Mmhmm. You’re a smart boy.”

“Vazquez,” Junior said. He slapped Franco’s cheeks with his palms, smearing suds all over them. “Vazquez love me?”

Isco held his breath for the answer but it turned out he hadn’t needed to. “Yeah,” Franco said softly, arms snaking around Junior and pressing Junior against his chest in a big soapy hug. “Yeah. I love you very much.”

Junior gave a shy but happy giggle. He leaned his cheek on Franco’s shoulder. “I love you too Vazquez.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Very many.”

Franco chuckled softly. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“I miss you too Vazquez.”

Then they both went silent for a while and Isco. Isco stood at the door and he started to cry. He hadn’t just robbed _himself_ of happiness by leaving Franco. He’d robbed Franco. He’d robbed _Junior_. All of that had been in Isco’s hands and he hadn’t taken care of it.

He hurriedly wiped his face when Franco and Junior finally saw him standing at the door. Junior grinned, but Franco looked concerned.

“You okay?” he asked.

Isco nodded. He went over to the tub and slicked Junior’s wet curls back on his head. “Happy?” he asked.

“Very happy,” Junior proclaimed.

Isco smiled. He put his other hand on Franco’s forehead and slicked Franco’s hair back, too, and Franco looked so happy and relieved and Isco. Isco loved him to bits and he was so _happy_ to have the two of them by his side again, safe and sound.

He watched as Franco washed Junior and himself clean and then climbed out the bath to dry Junior and put on some clothes. He looked cold so Isco wrapped a towel around him, which made Franco smile again. Isco took over the drying of Junior as Franco put on some pants, and then they all went to Junior’s room and tucked him into bed. He was already half-asleep, so getting him to be quiet wasn’t difficult. It took him the whole of three minutes to fall into dreamland.

Franco took Isco’s hand and led him back to the bathroom without a word. He slipped on his shirt as Isco took his off, then he just stood there fully-clothed waiting for Isco to get naked and get into the shower.

“Wanna join me?” Isco asked, watching with amusement as Franco tried his hardest not to let his gaze drift downwards. “A bath and a shower makes you extra clean, which you like.”

“We – maybe...we shouldn’t,” Franco said hesitantly, then shrugged. “Not before we talk.”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He tried to swallow his anxiety but he couldn’t. Franco was making it sound like their talk would change anything between them. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Maybe,” Franco continued after a slight pause at seeing how disappointed Isco seemed to be. He took a step closer to Isco. “Uh, maybe we could...kiss a little.”

“Yeah?” Isco laughed. “Okay.”

But Franco didn’t dare to make a move so Isco did, closing the gap between them and wrapping his arms around Franco’s neck. He keened upward and met Franco’s lips as he leaned towards Isco, and they were soft and sweet and scared and Isco worked at them until they were brave again. He gently nudged them open with his tongue and felt Franco buckle, suddenly not caring that Isco hadn’t showered and instead wrapping his arms tightly around Isco’s naked waist and pulling Isco tightly against him. He parted his lips wider, allowing both their tongues to mingle.

And then he suddenly pulled away and let Isco’s waist go, making Isco realise that he’d been lifted off the ground. He was out of breath as he pressed his head against Isco’s and whispered, “Okay. Okay, that’s enough.”

“I love you, Franco Vazquez,” Isco said, suddenly afraid that Franco wouldn’t say it back.

But Franco just gave a little nod and closed his eyes. “Love you too,” he mouthed, then opened his eyes again and pulled away fully. “I’ll wait in bed,” he said, then gave Isco’s cheek a squeeze before backing out of the bathroom.

Isco took a quick warm shower and put on his clothes before going out into the bedroom. Franco was in bed as promised, sheets pulled down so they only covered his crossed ankles, space magazines open on his lap. He put them aside when Isco appeared, dusting the front of his shorts off before turning to Isco and sitting with his legs crossed. Isco sat across from him, mirroring his posture.

“What do you want to talk about?” Franco asked.

“Just…” Isco shrugged. “About everything.”

Franco paused for a while, then said, “You were crying. Just now at the bathroom door.”

Isco dipped his head in response. He reached over to hold both of Franco’s hands and was relieved when Franco didn’t pull them out of his reach. He ran his thumbs down the symmetrical thick veins running down the middle of the back of each hand. Franco’s hands were big and soft and they held Isco’s so gently like they were the most precious jewels.

“You wanna talk about that?” Franco urged softly.

Isco shook his head. “I’ve already said too much. This whole thing, from the beginning – it’s all just been because I said too much and I didn’t listen to you, and I’m so sorry, Franco, I –”

“Don’t say sorry,” Franco interrupted. “Just. Can we just – just say all we want, get through this thing, without apologising? We’ve said ‘sorry’ enough times now. Can we just not say it anymore? Anything but sorry. Because I don’t want you to be sorry.”

“Okay,” Isco whispered. He hung his head as he started to cry again.

“I just want you to be honest,” Franco said. His voice was thick, too. “Can we do that? Can we just be honest?”

“Okay,” Isco said again.

“Now tell me why you were crying.”

“I was just,” Isco shrugged. “You two looked so happy. So _happy_. And to think that I’d taken that all away from you. That you'd put it in my hands, both of you, and I’d thrown it all away. All that _trust_. I threw everything away and now there's this part of me that thinks I'll never get it back. That I'll never get your trust back. You put your life in my hands, Franco, and I acted like it didn't matter. And now I'm just – I'm so scared that I'll never get it back. That I'll never get another chance. That you won't trust me again and I won't ever get a chance to care for you again.”

Franco shook his head. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, a sob that travelled down his arms and to his hands, through which Isco felt it. “You know I'll always trust you,” he whispered.

“You see, you're so kind,” Isco sobbed. “You're so _kind_ and look at _me._ Look at what I've done to you. You should be mad at me, Franco. After all I've done. You should be so mad. Why aren't you mad?”

“Because I love you,” Franco whispered. “And I could never be mad at you.”

“Your feelings for me should never affect the feelings you feel because of me,” Isco said. “Franco. Being mad at me doesn't mean you love me any less. You can't just – I know you're defensive of everyone you care about. But that doesn't make everyone perfect. The fact that you love me doesn't make me perfect. I wish it did. I wish that you could love me into a perfect person because if it were possible, I'd be the most perfect person on earth because of how much you love and care for me. But you can't. It's not just you. No one can. There's some parts of me that are bad and have done wrong things and you have the right to be mad because of them.”

Franco nodded. He didn't make eye contact. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You can tell me if you're mad. You said to be honest. So be honest with me now. I know you have a lot of things to say, Franco. I know you. And you do. Don't be scared to say them.”

Franco went silent for a long while, just sat there and thought about it. Isco watched fearfully, almost hearing the wheels turning in Franco’s head. Reluctantly at first, then more well-oiled.

Then Franco finally said, “Yeah. Yeah, I'm a little mad.”

“Why?” Isco asked, although he didn't really want to know the answer.

“I just,” Franco gave a loud sniffle followed by a shudder. “I don't know if I'm mad at myself or if I'm mad at you. But I'm just. I don't understand why you did what you did. I know you wanted to protect me. I know you wanted all the bad stuff to stop. But what I didn’t understand is why you did it the way you did. You just. You cut me off, Isco. After everything that we went through together, we had nothing of it left in the end. Zero. Nothing. And I know I was wrong, I know I should never have kept all of that from you. That’s on me. But you never gave me the chance to explain, Isco. You never gave me a chance to make it right. I had so many things to tell you. That I wanted to tell you. I wanted so badly to tell you everything, Isco, you'll never understand. And I never got to. I don't know who I'm madder at, you or myself. I'm mad that I let you go like that. I'm mad that I made the wrong choices and I lost you. And I'm mad that I ever thought of being mad at you for sleeping with that guy and having it shoved all up my face. Because you were no longer mine and what you did didn't concern me anymore. You didn't cheat on me. You were just simply doing what any single man had the right to do. I had no right to be mad at you but I was mad that you hurt me. That I let myself be hurt by you. That I – that I lost control of the one part of my life I swore never to lose control of. So, yeah. I guess I'm a little mad. But not so much at you.”

“It wasn't your fault, Franco,” Isco said, pressing his lips together so his sob wouldn't burst out of them. “It has never been. You're right. I should have given you a chance to explain. I know you were only trying to protect me. I don't understand why it's so hard for you in Seville but so easy for me in Madrid. But I know why you did what you did. I was just. Just. Part of me thought that you didn't trust me. Not enough to tell me, at least. And you just. Just lied to me like it was easy.”

“It wasn't easy, Alarcon,” Franco sobbed. “It wasn't.”

“I know,” Isco whispered. “I know, love.”

Franco smiled, lifting his head for a moment to meet Isco’s gaze. “Were you mad?”

“At you?” Isco sighed. “Yeah, no, I was just. I was mad. But not so much that you lied. I was mad that I wasn't able to give you what you deserve. You deserve the world, Franco. Your mind deserves to be calm and your heart deserves to be peaceful. And I was mad that I couldn't give you that. Seeing you so sad was – it was the worst thing to have ever happened to me. And the realisation that _I_ was the reason behind all of that –”

“You weren't. It wasn't your fault.”

“– It just hit me harder than I expected. Harder than anything else has ever.”

“I didn't want you to hurt because of something that happened to me,” Franco said. “You were good. It was all good for you. I wanted it to be that way because you don't deserve all of this, Isco. None of it.”

“I know,” Isco sighed. “Franco. You know what Alvaro told me? He told me that I was mad at myself and taking it out on you. And he was right. It's rare that he sees all these things for what they are but he was right. I was mad at myself for not being able to give you everything you deserve. I was mad that I brought chaos to your life. I wasn't mad at you. But you had to suffer for it and I just – I made things worse. I made things worse and I'm so fucking mad at myself, Franco.”

“Don’t be,” Franco whispered. He let go of one of Isco’s hands and wiped Isco’s cheek with his thumb. “Hey. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

“I just – why aren’t you mad? Maybe I – why won’t you be angry and rage at me or throw things around? I’d understand. I would. Maybe it’d make me feel better because I keep thinking you’re still secretly mad at me and you’re just keeping it all inside and I hate the thought of that, I hate that you’re always bottling up your feelings.”

“I don’t want to throw things around,” Franco said softly. He took Isco’s hand again. “It’s...it’s not pretty. It’s not a good thing to do. I don’t want to do it.”

“But you’re mad? If you’re mad, will you tell me?”

“I’m not mad anymore,” Franco said, his lips curving upwards a little. “And I did, you know? I did throw stuff around. I broke my phone again and I kicked a Lego sculpture that Fede and Nico bought to make me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Isco gave a little laugh-sob. “Somehow...somehow, that makes me feel better.”

Franco chuckled. “Okay.”

“Did you...you know,” Isco said. “Are the fans still bothering you?”

Franco shook his head, slowly and hesitantly, like he didn’t want to be honest with Isco but couldn’t help but.

Isco gave him a shrug to say, ‘see?’

“That’s not the point,” Franco said. “It’s not the point. What I want in my life has nothing to do with them. They have no right to tell me what I can and cannot have. You’re too easily swayed by other people’s opinions, Alarcon. Remember when we first got together, we were worried that _I_ was going to be the one affected? Remember you were confident that no matter what happened, we’d stick together? That whatever people said would never tear us apart because _we_ knew what we wanted and that was all that was going to matter? Do you remember that?”

Isco nodded. Franco sounded. He sounded madder.

“It turned out to be you,” Franco continued. “You were the one who made this decision based on _other people’s_ words. They’re not in our relationship, Alarcon. Our relationship is _ours_. And you promised me that it would be ours on top of anyone else. But you went back on that. You went back on that, Alarcon. You let other people into our relationship and you let it become toxic and then you abandoned it. All on your own. You made the decision _on your own._ And I guess – I guess this is what I’m mad at you about. Not anything else. Just this.”

Isco nodded, hanging his head so he didn't have to look at Franco. He was glad that Franco was showing his anger at last. But it just. It tore Isco into shreds.

“I just hate that you went back on your word,” Franco whispered, sobbing softly. “Do you get that?”

Isco nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. Because he understood now. He understood. No matter what kind of a shit life people gave Isco while he was with Franco, it would never, _ever_ hold a candle to what a shit life he had _without Franco._ “Yeah. I get it.”

“It's just,” Franco sighed. “You know, I look at Paulo and Alvaro sometimes, and I think of what they've been through. Everything. They were the first and they've been through much more than we ever have. And they stuck together through it. Through _everything._ They never keep anything from each other and they never get mad, and I always think – I always think, why can't we have that? Why can't we be like them? This is like, the third time we’ve fought and been apart since we met. The third time we couldn't stick together because of a misunderstanding. I don't want it to become a habit. I don't want it to be a sign that we aren't meant to be together. Because we are. I know we are. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Isco Alarcon. The very best. But I just. I don't know.”

“We’re not like them, Franco,” Isco said softly. “Remember? You're the one who just reminded me that I told you that. We make our own rules. We want different things from them and we need different things. There's no fixed set of rules or template that we have to follow. We make our own rules. We go as slow as we want or as fast as we want. We deal with things differently from they do.”

“Like this?” Franco made a vague gesture while still holding on to Isco’s hand. “Breaking up every time we meet an obstacle?”

“No,” Isco whispered. “Not like this. We're gonna fight. Of course we’re gonna fight. But I shouldn't have been so rash and I shouldn't have ended it. People are going to come at us and we aren't going to deal with them as well as Paulo and Alvaro did, but _we're going to._ Because we could have worked through this. We should have. I don't want you to think that this is what a relationship should be like. It's not. We’ve made mistakes and we’ve done a lot of wrong things but I swear to you, Franco Vazquez, we can do better. We will do better.”

“Yeah?” Franco asked. “Yeah? You still wanna do better with me?”

“Of course,” Isco whispered. He mustered a smile. “Franco, I love you. I love you and words will never be able to describe how happy you make me and how happy I am that you gave this relationship a chance in the first place. But I hate the fact that the first romantic relationship in your life turned out to be with someone like me. A screw up. I hate that I ruined the whole experience for you and I wish I could be better for you because I know you deserve so much better than me, and –”

“Don't say that. Don't fucking say that.”

“I just wish I could give you everything in the world. A perfect relationship.”

“No relationship is perfect. Isn't that what you've been trying to say?”

Isco sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, it's just –”

“Don't say anything else, okay?” Franco whispered. “You don't have to say anything.”

“I don't deserve you,” Isco sobbed. “You're so beautiful and so perfect and I don't deserve to be with you.”

“That's not for you to decide,” Franco said in the softest voice. “The people around you. They're the ones who decide what you deserve to receive from them. You don't get to decide that.”

Silence. Just a very, very long silence. Franco peered nervously at Isco as Isco did at him.

“You think I deserve all the love you constantly give me?” Isco whispered.

Franco nodded. Didn't hesitate, didn't furrow his brow, just nodded most earnestly.

“I love you,” Isco said.

“I love you, too.”

Another silence. Like they'd run out of things to be angry about.

Except for – well, except for the elephant in the room.

“About that dude –” Isco started, but was cut off by Franco.

“No, let’s just stop.”

“We have to talk about it.”

Franco sighed. “What about him?”

“I just want you to know that it meant nothing,” Isco said. “Okay? Nothing at all. It wasn’t planned, I didn’t go out looking for someone to fuck, and I wish it’d never happened. I get it if you’re mad. Because you should be. I get it. I cheated and –”

“You didn’t cheat,” Franco said. “Okay? That’s what makes this so hard. You didn’t cheat.”

“I did,” Isco sobbed. He let go of one of Franco’s hands and clutched at his own chest, which had begun to close up like a fist. “In here, I will always be yours, Franco. I will always be. And being with someone else, it just – it made me feel so dirty. Because all this while, in my head and in my heart, I still belong to you. And the fact that I did that, it was just. It wasn’t right at all. I know you probably see it as a rebound. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to me and it makes me feel so disgusted.”

“I don’t blame you,” Franco said softly. That was all he said. Then he went quiet again.

“Do you still…” Isco swallowed a sob. “Do you still want me? Now that I...I’ve been with someone else.”

“Alarcon,” Franco whispered. He put his free hand on Isco’s cheek. “You know I will always want you.”

“You’re not mad about it?”

“I tried to be,” Franco said. “I really tried to be mad. But I wasn’t. It’s so hard to be mad at you, Isco. And you weren’t accountable to me anymore. You were your own person. I mean, you always are, but just...in a relationship way, you were your own person. And I just. I wanted so bad to be mad, you know? I wanted to be mad at you. But I just. I wasn’t. Because I thought you were trying to find happiness again and your success in that was more important to me. And I’m not mad right now. Because I believe you when you say it didn’t mean anything. That’s all that matters to me, given all the circumstances.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled, gulping down another sob. “Why...why didn't you say anything earlier when I asked you if you forgive me?”

“It wasn't my place,” Franco said. “We weren't together.”

“And we are now?”

Franco returned Isco's smile. “Yeah. I mean...I mean, if you wanna.”

“‘Course I wanna,” Isco said, burst into tears again. “So you forgive me now?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Just like that? You're not...secretly mad or anything?”

Franco shook his head. “Look. You already told me it meant nothing. You were upset and drunk and it was just sex. Sex has always just been...it's just always been sex. You know? For the both of us in our younger days. I know you understand that.”

“Yeah.”

“What we have,” Franco gestured between them. “It's not just sex. It's so much more than that. And you didn't...share that with him. All you shared with him was – was whatever way you had sex. So I just. That doesn't...mean anything to me. Just like all the guys I had sex with in the past before I met you, they...they didn't mean anything to me or...to you. Yeah? Right?”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. Franco was so kind and understanding and _rational_ and Isco was just. “Franco, I'm. I'm sor – I'm –”

Then he just leapt across the little space between them and into Franco’s lap, wrapping his arms around Franco’s neck and squeezing tightly because he’d run out of words to say besides that he was sorry. He wanted to tell Franco he was sorry over and over and over again but he knew soon it would mean nothing because Franco wouldn't accept it, because Franco – Isco’s _big beautiful idiot_ Franco – didn't blame Isco at all. His arms tightened around Isco and Isco felt so relieved he thought he was almost going to faint.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered into Franco’s neck. “I'm sorry, Franco.”

“I'm sorry, too,” Franco breathed, his lips forming the words against the skin above Isco’s ear.

“I'm never going to make another decision without asking you.”

“You can do that. It's your life.”

“Another decision about _us._ I'm never going to make another decision about us without asking you.”

“I'm never going to keep any secrets from you again,” Franco’s arms tightened around Isco. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

Isco laughed. Franco was. He was so silly. “You're so silly,” he told Franco.

“It's just, what people say,” Franco whispered. “It doesn't matter to me. Being with you, being so happy and so...full. It far outweighs anything that they could ever say or do to me.”

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. “Yeah. I get it now.”

“And I'm willing to take all of it. Because to have you in return – Isco, to have you in return is more than I could ever ask for in my entire life. I don't need peace or approval from anyone at all. I don't need you to give those to me. So don't feel like you're not enough. You are. You will always be enough.”

Isco shut his eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't listen to you when you were trying to talk to me.”

“It's okay. It's over. It's all over and now I have you again and I love you and I will never let you go ever again.”

“Even when we gotta poop?”

Franco laughed. “Yeah. Even when we gotta poop.”

“Gross.”

“ _You're_ gross.”

And then everything just. Just clicked back into place. Isco could almost hear the audible ‘click.’

“Hey,” Franco said when Isco didn't speak. “I gotta know something.”

“Yeah?”

“Was it good?” Franco asked. “You know, the...sex.”

“What the fuck,” Isco said, sitting up so he could slap Franco on the chest. Then he burst into laughter, because Franco was grinning like he'd just trolled Isco and honestly, it _was_ pretty funny. “Don't ask me that. That's ridiculous.”

“Is it? C’mon. I just wanna know. Is he better than me?”

“I don't even remember it. I was drunk, remember? It was just like you said. Hi, let's fuck, okay, done, bye.”

Franco laughed and. And it was the most beautiful sound in the universe. “So, not memorable?”

“Mmhmm. I take it that's not good.”

“Yeah,” Franco said softly. One of his hands grasped the back of Isco’s head as the other’s fingers gently drummed down Isco’s cheek and jaw, like it was a familiar feeling and Franco was reliving it. His breath was warm and soft on Isco’s face. “Memorable is good.”

“I remember every time with you, though,” Isco whispered.

“Really?” Franco smiled. “Every single time?”

“Okay, maybe not _every single time_ ,” Isco said, making Franco laugh again. “But I remember every single thing it makes me feel.”

Franco moved his face closer so his forehead and nose were pressed on Isco’s. “Me, too,” he whispered.

Then his lips landed on Isco's, and they were soft and sweet but no longer scared. They started to turn upwards in a smile, leading Isco’s to do the same. And Isco just felt so warm, like his organs had all turned to mush.

“Your chaos is the only kind of chaos I would allow in my life,” Franco murmured against Isco’s lips.

“Yeah?” Isco grinned, the warmth in his body released as a little chuckle.

“Mmhmm,” Franco said. “Only yours. Always. I love you.”

“I love you too, Franny.”

“Remember I said that your reaction to something you did is more important than the thing you did itself?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I know you think you did a bad thing. But you’re admitting that it’s bad and you’re apologising and you feel this horrible about it and – and that means much more than the thing you did. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Isco whispered. He tried not to let his tears start falling again. “Yeah, I just. I just know that if I’d done this to anyone else other than you, this conversation wouldn’t even be happening. No one else would ever forgive me for doing this to them. No one else would want me back. No one else...you know. No one else has this line between sex and emotion drawn so well.”

“Well,” Franco smiled encouragingly. He tucked Isco’s stray hair into his main bunch. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not anyone else, yeah?”

Isco returned his smile. “Yeah.”

“I’ve never even thought about any reaction other than this,” Franco said softly. “Towards you.”

“You can be mad at me,” Isco said. “You know that? You can. This isn’t me giving you permission. This is just me telling you that it’s your right.”

Franco nodded. “But I’m not. Maybe...maybe next time I will be. Maybe in the future.”

“Yeah,” Isco said. He understood. Franco still needed time to sort out this whole relationship thing. He still needed to figure out the different types of feelings he could feel. He still needed time to open himself up to feeling those emotions. “Of course.”

“I love you.”

“Me, too,” Isco smiled. He kissed Franco on the lips, then the cheek. “Thank you for the party.”

“Yeah,” Franco beamed proudly. “You had fun?”

“Mmhmm. Loads of fun.”

Franco’s smile slowly faded as he gazed at Isco. His hand gently cupped Isco’s cheek. The melancholy returned to his eyes.

“What?” Isco whispered, suddenly frightened.

“Can I...can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“If I didn’t do this party for you,” Franco started hesitantly. “If I hadn’t done it, then...would you – would you have come to me? Would we be...would we have had this talk? This second chance?”

Isco sighed. He shook his head slowly. “I probably – I wouldn’t – I don’t know. I don’t think – I didn’t know how to face you.”

Franco shut his eyes and tilted his face downwards. “Yeah,” he whispered, and he sounded. He sounded devastated. “I just. Isco. You have to know that this wasn’t my intention. I didn’t plan the party for you so you’d owe me this. I just wanted to do something to make you happy. You didn’t have to know it was me. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me this talk, that you owe me this relationship.”

“Hey,” Isco said. He shifted so he wasn’t sitting on Franco’s legs and making them numb, and was instead sitting between his legs with his thighs hanging over Franco’s. “Hey. I know that. I know. I want to do this.”

“Yeah?” Franco said, his voice thick. “I don’t want to...to make you do something you don’t wanna do.”

“You’re not,” Isco whispered. He grasped Franco’s chin and tilted it upwards. “I promise you, you’re not. I just. I don’t know. You know me. I’m a coward. I didn’t dare to talk to you. I keep thinking about it, of doing it, but...but I just never did because I was so afraid. And then today, when I saw you...when I read those letters. It was just like. Like a sign. Pushing me towards you. And I’m glad it did. I’m glad that you’re here and I’m glad I took the chance.”

“You’re not a coward,” Franco said, and when Isco moved his hand to Franco’s cheek, placed his hand on top of Isco’s. “I think you’re very brave.”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“I know you hate being vulnerable. And I know that for you to come to me...you had to know that it would make you even more vulnerable. So you didn’t do it. Being afraid to be vulnerable doesn’t make you a coward, Alarcon. It just means that you’re strong enough to admit your own weaknesses. And you were really brave today. You’re so brave to...to give me a chance. To talk to me. To ask me if I’m angry. Even though you were scared. That makes you...you’re so brave, Isco. So brave.”

“Yeah? You think that?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“When you decided to plan this party,” Isco said. “Did it ever cross your mind, even the slightest, that you were doing it to get me back?”

Franco gave a soft laugh, then a sob, and God, Isco thought he’d said something wrong so he panicked and grabbed Franco’s face gently in his hands and tried to make Franco stop crying. Which he failed, obviously, so he just sat there just desperately watching Franco and wishing Franco would _say something_.

“I let myself think,” he finally whispered. “I let myself imagine that...that this would happen. That you’d take me back. It was like...like a dream scenario, you know? But it wasn’t the main reason I put this party together. It wasn’t my motivation. It was just sort of a really wild fantasy. I would have been completely okay if right now I wasn’t here and instead I was sitting alone in a hotel bed. I would be...I’d be sad, but I’d be okay. Because my intention wasn’t to meet you or have you be grateful to me for doing this or for you to return me a favour. The reason I put this together was that I knew you wanted a party and I wanted to make you happy.”

“How’d you know I wanted a party?”

“On my birthday, you said you’d let me know if you wanted a party, and I just...knew,” Franco shrugged. “I mean, look at you. How could you not have a party?”

Isco laughed, and Franco laughed along, and Isco was so relieved. “Franco, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Yeah. I accept it. I really, really do. You gotta stop apologising to me.”

“Okay,” Isco whispered. “Yeah. Okay. I just...this whole thing, it just. I feel so horrible about it.”

“We both did wrong,” Franco said, combing Isco’s hair back on his head again because it kept falling down. “Not just you. It’s both our faults. So let’s just...could we just try to move on? Put this behind us? Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. Franco was just. He was so fucking amazing.

“Happy birthday,” Franco said, kissing Isco on the nose. “Happy, happy birthday.”

“This is the best birthday in my entire life,” Isco proclaimed.

“Yeah?” Franco laughed. “Is that a challenge?”

“It might be.”

“Watch your birthdays get better year after year starting from this one.”

“Are you saying you’re going to be with me long enough for me to see a pattern?”

“Mmhmm,” Franco said proudly.

Isco hooked his arms over Franco’s shoulders and kissed Franco hard on the lips. It was a familiar taste. Familiar and comfortable and safe. He lay down on his side so both he and Franco landed on the bed with a thump, lying down facing each other, with Isco’s legs still wrapped around Franco’s waist.

“Did you miss me?” he asked Franco.

“More than anything else in the world,” Franco whispered.

Isco tucked Franco’s hair, which had flopped over on his forehead, back on his head, twisting it so it’d stay in place. “I thought you hated me.”

“I could never,” Franco said.

Isco smiled. He didn’t think Franco had room in his heart for anything other than concern. Franco didn’t hate. He only cared, and sometimes that pushed him to be angry or irrational and on the surface, Franco was quiet and stern and brooding – but right to the very root of it, Franco only cared.

“You’re a big, beautiful idiot,” Isco said.

“You think so?” Franco laughed softly. “You’re a tiny, beautiful idiot.”

“Gross,” Isco whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “Hey. Hey, have you eaten? Shit, you haven’t eaten.”

“I’ve eaten a little,” Franco said, shushing Isco with a finger on Isco’s lips. “I ate a little before you came. And when you brought your family to the hotel, I ate some pasta. Junior fed me.”

“That’s very little,” Isco said. He pulled himself out of Franco’s grasp and went to the door. “I’ll microwave some of the pasta.”

He opened the door and Bubu charged inside like he’d been waiting. He leapt onto the bed and snuggled up to Franco, who gave an adoring laugh and hugged him for a moment before Bubu slithered out of his arms and settled in a little ball at the foot of the bed, tongue out and watching Franco with beady eyes.

“I’m not hungry,” Franco called as Isco went out the bedroom door. “Come back.”

And he looked so sad and lonely without Isco so Isco couldn’t help but go back to him and hug him again. He tucked his head under Franco’s chin and smiled. “You know, Bubu misses you a lot?”

“Yeah?” Franco chuckled. “He does?”

“You know that pair of flip-flops you left here? He sat on it every day.”

Franco laughed again. He turned to look at Bubu, who was still curled up obediently and staring adoringly at Franco. Franco gestured with one hand and Bubu got up immediately, pouncing on Franco and licking his face.

“Okay, okay,” Franco cringed from how ticklish it was. “Yeah, I’m back. I’m back.”

Then Isco had to make way for Bubu – unbelievable, honestly, that dog – and so he lay there watching Bubu frolick around with Franco and Franco just making little baby noises at him like he wasn’t a dog but a human child.

“Junior missed you a lot, too,” Isco said.

“He told me.”

“Franco,” Isco said softly. “You know that album you gave me? With the pictures of me and Junior?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you inside it, too. I want all of us inside it. It’s not just me and Junior anymore.”

“You know you can take the photos out and replace them, right?”

“It’s not that,” Isco said. “It’s the thought that...you felt like you didn’t belong. You’ll always belong, Franco. You’ll always belong with us.”

Franco put Bubu over his shoulder and shimmied over so he could kiss Isco. “Maybe we’ll need some time,” he whispered. “For it all to go back to normal.”

Isco wiped his tear away before it could fall too far down his cheek. “We have all the time in the world.”

Franco smiled. “Please don't cry. You look so weird when you cry.”

“Shut up, I don't look weird.”

“You do.”

“Hold my hand.”

Franco gave a little exasperated ‘tsk’ before taking Isco’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “Demanding,” he remarked.

“Anyone who’s ever held these hands would feel the same way as me.”

Franco giggled. He _giggled_ like he was a soft little man-bunny. “Shut the fuck up,” he mouthed.

Isco closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t understand how everything could just. Just return to normal so easily. That he and Franco could just slip into their normal teasing, flirting routine without any sort of repercussions. It made Isco a little worried that it was going to hit him when he least expected it.

“Are we okay now, Franco?” Isco asked. “We’re gonna be okay?”

Franco didn’t respond verbally, but when Isco opened his eyes, Franco nodded. “You’ll be okay.”

“I want _us_ to be okay.”

A short hesitation from Franco, then, “I can’t promise you that.”

“Yeah,” Isco closed his eyes again. “Okay.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” Franco continued. “Just that. Isco. I really want this to work. I have since the first day. It’s just. I guess it’s just going to take some time and effort and communication.”

“Mmhmm,” Isco mumbled, suddenly just. Just so relieved that Franco wasn’t saying that he thought they wouldn’t work out. “Yeah. Of course. Of course.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Franco gave Isco a quick peck on the lips and then got up with a smile. “I’ll go grab my phone,” he said, and then walked out of the room with Bubu hanging upside down over his arm. He returned a minute later without Bubu and announced, “He fell asleep on my shoes. Gross.”

“Antonio sent us some of the photos,” Isco said, showing his phone screen to Franco.

“Send them to me,” Franco said, so Isco forwarded all of them to him. “We took more photos than this,” he said.

“It’s just some of them so I can post them on Instagram.”

Franco laughed knowingly. He lay back down in bed with his head on Isco's tummy and listened patiently as Isco scrolled through the pictures and commented on which ones were the most suitable for an Instagram post. He scrolled through them himself, providing his own insights. They were mostly just annoying comments about how Isco wasn't standing in the middle.

The second round of decisions after they’d chosen seven photos was the order Isco was going to post them in. Isco spent some time thinking and then recited the order to Franco and Franco made a comment about Isco putting his old friends before his teammates, and _God_ , he was so fucking _annoying_ but _smart_ and Isco just wanted to slap him and hug him tight at the same time.

Then they stopped bickering for a while as Isco thought of a caption. He eventually came up with a moderately long one, filled with positive words and gratitude towards everyone who came to his party even if they lived a few hours away. He clicked post without reading it twice.

Franco was smiling up at him when he looked, eyebrows happily slanted down at the sides. He put his phone aside and wrapped his arms around Isco’s waist, pressing his face into Isco’s abdomen. “I’m so happy you had a great time at the party,” he said, his voice muffled, causing vibrations to run up Isco’s torso.

“I think it’s better than anything anyone else could’ve planned,” Isco said. “Even myself.”

Franco sat up and leaned against the headboard next to Isco. “I'm just happy you're happy,” he said softly.

Isco wanted to laugh because that was like, the thirtieth time Franco had said that. But he didn't, because he knew Franco was just trying to make things right in his own way and he was just being the perfect idiot he was and there was no way Isco was going to make fun of that. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“You're welcome.”

“You know,” Isco started again. “There's another Franco somewhere in an alternate universe who didn't organize this party. There's another Alvaro who decided not to blab about it to me. There's another Isco who decided he wouldn't go outside to meet you. There's another Franco who...who doesn't forgive me. There are so many ways this could've turned out. So many ways this has turned out, probably, in so many different worlds.”

Franco smiled. He looked a little proud that Isco was suggesting this. “I'm glad I don't live on any of those worlds,” he whispered.

“Me, too.”

Franco glanced at Isco’s phone, which was lying on the bed between them, screen lit up with notifications. He gestured to it. “Check your phone.”

“It’s just comments on my post,” Isco said. “Nothing important.”

“Check it anyway.”

“Franco, I,” Isco hesitated. “Uh, the photos I posted. The one I said was with Paulo and Alvaro. It was with you, too. It was the four of us.”

“So…” Franco gestured at Isco’s phone again. “So they know I was here?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah. Franco, I’m sorry, I’ll take it down if –”

“No,” Franco interrupted gently. “I, uh. I posted one, too. Of the both of us. I just – maybe I should’ve asked you first, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay with people knowing, too?”

“Of course. They’re not going to hurt me, Isco. I’m not going to let them hurt me.”

“ _I’m_ not going to let them hurt you.”

Franco smiled. “We’re silly.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should apologise to Paulo and Alvaro for ever calling them dumb.”

“You think so?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Okay. Who cares about them anyway?”

“They care about each other and that’s enough,” Franco pointed out. He took Isco’s phone and put it in Isco’s hand. “Look at it.”

Isco opened Instagram and the auto-refresh put Franco’s post at the top of his feed.

It was a set of photos of Franco and Isco; the first one was the most normal-looking photo that they'd taken. They were smiling brightly at the camera and their arms were wrapped tightly around each other, Franco’s around Isco’s shoulders and Isco’s around Franco’s waist.

The second photo was a photo of the both of them together with Junior and Bubu. Junior was sitting on Isco’s arm but leaning over to Franco’s side to touch Franco’s face, and Bubu was draped over Franco's arm and looking straight at the camera. They were all smiling so big their eyes had almost disappeared. Except Junior’s, of course, because they were so freakishly gigantic.

The last photo was a group shot with Paulo and Alvaro. Isco was in the middle with Alvaro and Franco on either side of him and Paulo at the end next to Alvaro. All three of them were leaning over to stare at Isco and furrowing their brows at him as Isco tried to explain his piano keys theory to them. The funniest thing about the photo was how _serious_ they all looked, especially Isco, like his life depended on them not looking like piano keys in his birthday photos. It made Isco burst into loud laughter and Franco, in response, grin so hard his face almost split in two.

_To the brightest star in my sky: happy birthday. I wish for you to be happy every minute for the rest of your life and I feel like I am the luckiest person alive to be able to be the one to try and give you that. There are so many worlds we could have been in, but our decisions brought us here, to this one; and no matter what we’ve been through or what we’ll go through, I know I wouldn’t exchange anything in this life for the chance to be in any other universe. There are so many things we’ve yet to do, so many places we’ve yet to go and so many skies we’ve yet to see. I can’t wait to do all these things with you. I can’t wait to spend the rest of your birthdays with you. I love how we always find our way back to each other, that you’re always my beacon of light in times of distress. I will never meet another person who is as beautiful as you, inside your big heart and out. You are so beautiful and perfect it’s a wonder how it all fits in your tiny body. But I guess that will always be one of the wonders of the universe – just like you are. Happy birthday, my favourite person. I love you._

Isco turned to Franco with tears welling up in his eyes. Franco caught them with his thumbs before they could fall. “Thank you,” Isco whispered as Franco wrapped him in a hug.

“Don’t thank me.”

“Not for the party. For giving me a second chance. For...for loving me out of this mess.”

Franco smiled. “Always,” he said, kissing Isco on his temple. “You’re always loving me out of messes, too.”

“I know now. I can't love the mess away and I'm not going to try but...but I can love you through it.”

“Yeah?” Franco whispered, face flushed pink. Isco gave his cheek a little pinch.

“We’ll never stop.”

“Mmhmm. Never.”

“Pinky promise,” Isco said, sticking out his pinky.

Franco laughed, but obliged. “Pinky promise.”

“I love you, Franny.”

“I love you too, Franny.”

“We have nice names,” Isco said. “Remember? That’s what you said to me the first time you texted me.”

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. He kissed Isco softly, tenderly, so gently that Isco was torn between asking for more and just melting into a puddle of whatever. “Are you going to stop crying? You’re not going to spend the last fifteen minutes of your birthday fucking crying.”

“Okay,” Isco said obediently.

“What would you like to do for these fifteen minutes?”

“Just lie here with you.”

“Okay.”

So they just lay there, half-leaning on the headboard, Isco tucked comfortably into Franco’s chest. They sat silently for the last fifteen minutes of Isco’s birthday, just listening to and feeling each other breathe.

And as Isco pondered in the silence, he knew that they’d been right. They were never going to stop loving each other out of all the messes that were still standing in their way. All the messes they’d gotten through together were testament enough. Any other mess would not stand a chance against Franco and Isco. That was all Isco wanted and all Isco wished he could have.

Because life was just one big mess from start to finish, and in the very last minute of his 25th birthday, Isco wished for nothing more than for Franco to love him through the rest of it.

\------

Isco and Franco’s version of catching up after a month apart consisted of two hours of just lazing around in bed in weird as fuck positions, talking about nothing and everything, and periods of silence where Franco just watched Isco staring at his phone. They were just. Just comfortable, in general.

“You know there's a meteor shower happening now?” Isco asked sleepily, lying ninety degrees to Franco on his back with his head resting on Franco’s chest and his legs bent at the knees so they wouldn’t hang off the bed. “Or soon? For a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah,” Franco smiled, his fingers moving methodically through Isco’s hair – which was probably what was making him so sleepy, Franco realised. “The Eta Aquariids. From Halley’s comet.”

“Do you think we’ll see it?”

“Nah. It’s hard to see here. It’s mostly in the south. Like, maybe if we were in Australia, or something.”

“Aw, man,” Isco mumbled, eyes slipping fully closed. “Australia is so far.”

Then he promptly fell asleep.

Franco started laughing – softly, so he wouldn't wake Isco up. He touched his fingertip gently to Isco’s forehead, to his hairline, and traced along it. It was just as jagged and weird as Franco remembered.

Isco swatted Franco’s hand aside like it was a fly. He turned so he was lying properly along the bed, and then wrapped his arms around Franco’s waist again and slept chest-down on Franco, half draping off him.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too,” Franco smiled. “Happy birthday.”

Isco gave a soft giggle, then fell back into his slumber.

Franco pulled the sheets over the both of them and hugged Isco tight, hands drawing big soothing circles on Isco’s back. He was never going to let Isco go ever again. Never. Even if it put Franco in grave danger. Franco had been given way too many chances. There was no way he was going to put himself in a situation again where he needed another one.

Franco picked up his phone from where it was next to him. There were no notifications from Instagram, which Franco knew was only because he’d turned them off when he and Isco had broken up.

He opened the app and the little pink bubble popped up with over a thousand likes for his post about Isco’s birthday. There were also four photos he was tagged in. Two of them were by Paulo and Alvaro, who posted the exact same photo of the four of them looking very normal. No piano keys, no weird faces, just the four of them smiling at the camera and the captions variations of birthday wishes to Isco.

The third photo was as Franco had anticipated – the post Isco had spent forty-five minutes on, a post thanking everyone for coming to his party and giving him a good time. Franco double-tapped it.

What he hadn't anticipated was the latest photo he was tagged in.

It was a photo Isco had posted, again; but this time just one photo, and just Franco and Isco alone. They were at the same place, the photo booth, standing perfectly in the middle of the 2 and 5 foil balloons. Isco’s arms were wrapped so tightly around Franco’s waist that his arms overlapped at Franco’s abdomen and he obstructed the whole left half of Franco’s body. Franco had one arm over Isco’s shoulders and the other hand on Isco’s cheek, turning Isco’s head to the camera and holding Isco’s face as he kissed Isco’s temple. Isco had his eyes closed and his lips open and curled upwards in a big smile, an expression of ultimate bliss.

Franco clicked on Isco’s profile to see his feed. Isco had deleted that black and white ‘breakup announcement’ photo he’d posted.

He clicked back to the photo of the two of them. It already had over two hundred thousand likes. Franco’s boyfriend was a popular piece of shit.

Franco spent some time just. Just admiring the photo. It wasn’t like it was particularly special, if anything it was just a normal photo of two people. But it was just. It was mesmerising. Breathtaking. Behind that photo was – it was so much more than what could be seen. It was pain and hurt but also, eventually, the most fulfilling happiness in the world. Because Isco had accepted Franco’s nonverbal challenge from day one, he had gotten closer and closer, a little closer and then all at once; now he was in Franco's head and Franco would keep him there forever if he could. Franco felt a sort of warmth, a sort of overwhelming euphoria just melt everything else away in that moment.

Franco lingered on the photo for a while longer, pressing his lips to the top of Isco’s head and smiling when Isco gave this blissful sigh. Isco looked so. He looked so beautiful and childlike and peaceful when he slept. And Franco would trade everything else that mattered to him for the chance to fall asleep next to Isco every single night.

Franco double tapped the photo and scrolled down to the caption.

_I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. I love you, my favourite galaxy._


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so here we are at the very last part of this journey (for now). If you remember the last time, I did this super long-ass set of notes/behind the scenes thing. I've done that too, but I'll post it tomorrow or latest Monday (I promise this time!) because I want to post it together with the first chapter of Part 3! The extra chapter I've added is for that. I hope you guys will continue to follow this series but regardless, I'm glad you have enjoyed this fic/these two fics enough to read all my babbling hahaha. 
> 
> Also a rather important note: This epilogue happens in October 2017, in the future, and it sits entirely after Part 3. So, Part 3 happens completely between chapters 35 and 36 of this fic. Can't wait!
> 
> I'd just like to thank you all again for sticking with me throughout this. All your encouragement and support really means a lot to me and I love to hear from all of you. I hope you all are doing okay! Thank you and I hope you enjoy this very last bit of CALC. With all my love and thanks.

The fact that both Isco and Franco had away matches on the weekend of their first anniversary bothered them more than either of them was willing to admit. The fact that it fell right after the international break – well, it just made Isco fucking frustrated.

“I just wanna do something nice with you,” he grumbled when they met at the beginning of October in Madrid, a couple of days before Isco was leaving for the international break. They were in Isco’s backyard, Isco sprawled on one of the lawn chairs and Franco sitting in the little space left over next to him because he was too lazy to get his own lawn chair.

“We’ll do something nice when you get back,” Franco said.

“There’s no time.”

“We’ll make time,” Franco said. “We always have.”

Isco frowned and Franco gave him a little kiss on his brow furrow. “You’re okay with this?” Isco asked.

“Mmhmm,” Franco said. “We’ll make time and we’ll have a super great time. Like always.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Franco said. He leaned in closer so his lips were right by Isco’s ear. “And we can have the most mind-blowing sex _ever._ ”

“Shut up,” Isco laughed. “Shut up, I love you.”

Franco smiled proudly. He shifted to sit on the ground instead, and leaned his head against Isco’s hip. Isco placed a hand on Franco’s hair. It sunk in because of how soft and fluffy Franco’s hair was, so Isco combed his fingers through it. Franco closed his eyes and gave a contented sigh.

Then Junior came bounding out the back door with his big teddy in tow, and he was grabbing onto one of its paws and its legs were just dragging on the dirty ground as he charged towards Isco and Franco, and in that moment all Isco could think of was how lucky they all were that Franco’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t witnessing this atrocity.

“Found it?” Isco asked with a smile as Junior slowed down upon reaching them.

Junior nodded eagerly. He was clutching the deflated beach ball he had been looking for. He passed it to Isco to blow it up for him so he could kick it around.

Franco opened his eyes only to have Junior immediately pounce on him, flailing limbs and teddy bear and all. He straddled Franco’s lap with a big grin as Isco blew the beach ball up for him.

“How you doin’, hmm?” Franco smiled back at him, smoothing his sweaty hair back on his head. Franco’s gaze drifted to the teddy draped over both their legs before he picked it up and dusted its fur off. “Did you drag this on the ground? I told you not to drag it on the ground.”

Isco rolled his eyes. So much for Franco not noticing. Isco swore that Franco could detect the tiniest speck of dust from a mile away.

He finished inflating the ball and threw it on the grass for Junior to chase after. Junior did, but not before giving Franco a cheeky slap on the face.

“You deserved that,” Isco said as Franco sighed and continued dusting the teddy off.

“Shut up.”

“Hey,” Isco said, his hand returning to Franco’s head. “What do you wanna do for our anniversary?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

“But you hate surprises.”

“I want one. It’s different when I know there’s a surprise coming.”

“Okay,” Isco said slowly. “So if I surprise you, you won’t get mad?”

“I won’t.”

“You’re so weird, you know that?”

“Not as weird as you.”

Isco sighed in defeat. He flopped Franco’s hair down on his forehead and admired it for a while before combing it back up through his fingers. Franco wasn't bothered; he just continued running his fingertips through the teddy’s fur with a frown on his face.

Isco wondered what he would ever have done without Franco.

“Watcha thinking about?” Franco asked. He put the teddy between Isco’s feet and turned so he was facing Isco. He leaned his head sideways against Isco’s thigh and gave Isco an encouraging smile and Isco felt himself disintegrate and become a part of the lawn chair.

“Just thinking ‘bout what I'd do without you.”

“And?” Franco asked. He moved closer to Isco and gently cupped Isco’s cheek. “What would you do?”

Isco grabbed the scruff of Franco’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss, smiling when he felt Franco struggle to get on his knees so he could get more.

“I would die,” Isco whispered when Franco pulled away for a breath.

“Don't say that,” Franco said softly. “Hey. You'd be fine without me.”

“I wouldn't,” Isco mumbled. “I don't want you to think that I would be okay without you just because I broke up w– “

“Stop talking,” Franco said, leaning over and pressing his lips on Isco’s again. “Be quiet. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Isco whispered, trying not to let his tears fall. “I love you, Franco Vazquez.”

Franco gave him the warmest smile. He ruffled Isco’s beard before getting up to drag another lawn chair next to Isco’s. He sprawled out on it with a sigh, turning his head to the side to watch Junior prancing around.

“He's so big now,” Franco said softly.

“Yeah,” Isco smiled. “Big boy.”

“Big bean,” Franco said.

“Our big bean,” Isco said.

Franco turned back to Isco and. And his eyes lit up with how happy he was. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco beamed.

Franco reached over for Isco’s hand, holding it in the space between them. His fingers clenched tightly around Isco’s and Isco. Isco just felt so safe.

“Alarcon,” Franco said. “When I said earlier that...that you'd be fine without me. I didn't – I didn't mean anything bad.”

Isco nodded. He waited for Franco to continue, because he was sure Franco had much more to say than that.

“I just,” Franco continued. “It makes me happy. Relieved. That...to know that you'd be good without me. Because you're amazing and strong and I know you'll be fine when it happens –”

“Franco,” Isco cut him off. “Don't say things like that. You're so young. You're twenty-eight.”

“Yeah, I,” Franco sighed. “I like planning.”

“Not like that.”

“Okay.”

“You can't talk to me about leaving me,” Isco said, his voice thick. He knew what was coming and he didn't want to cry but he couldn't help it. “You can't talk about leaving me, or – or _dying._ You can't do that, Franco. I'm – I can't do that. I'm not ready for that. We’ve just started, Vazquez. We’ve barely just. Don't talk to me about that.”

Franco squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay,” he whispered. “I'm sorry.”

“No, I just,” it was Isco’s turn to sigh. He sat up and moved closer to Franco, sitting by his side. “I want to spend forever with you. The rest of my life.”

“Me, too,” Franco smiled, his eyes still closed. “But don't you see? The rest of our lives together...it means this, too. It means this...what you don't wanna talk about. It's gonna happen one day.”

“We’ll talk about it when the time comes.”

Franco nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Silence for a while. Isco just sat there watching Franco, playing with one of Franco’s hands with both of his own.

It was just. It still felt so different. Even after an entire summer – one of the best summers of Isco’s life, Isco had to say – things just felt different. Like Franco would just suddenly turn into a pile of sand and slip right through Isco’s fingers. Because Isco had let him go more than once, way too easily. The guilt of that – Isco felt like it would never go away.

“Franco,” Isco whispered, using his thumbs to spread out the skin on the back of Franco’s hand.

“Yeah?”

“Our anniversary, do you think...does it count?”

Franco opened his eyes and turned to Isco. “Why wouldn't it?” he asked.

Isco shrugged. “It's just, in this one year...there's been so many things happening, you know? This one year...it’s not a full year. We’ve been apart. In between.”

“Does it matter?” Franco asked after a short pause. “Think of us one year ago. And look at us right now. We’re where we want to be. One year ago, this Isco looked at his life, and this Franco looked at his life, and they both thought the same thing – that they wanna be here, like this, in a year. And that's where we are. We’ve got what we wanted, a year later. That's all that matters to me. Sometimes...sometimes, the journey doesn't matter as much as the end result.”

“You think so?” Isco whispered.

“Yeah,” Franco smiled. He grasped the back of Isco’s hair and pushed Isco’s head on his chest. “C'mon. Come here.”

Isco smiled as he curled up on his chair and used Franco as a pillow. They watched Junior play for a little longer. About a half hour later he came scurrying towards them, wet and sweaty and panting.

“Papa, Vazquez, you play too,” he said, clambering up on the chair and on Franco to the best of his abilities. He ended up half sitting on Isco's head.

And Franco and Isco ended up giving in to him, getting up from their lazy positions and fetching a proper football so they could have a little kickaround with Junior. He ran around between them as they passed the ball to each other, giggling and flailing and stumbling to try and catch it but failing each time. Then he got tired after another half hour and just lay down on the ground, breathing heavily.

Isco and Franco got down next to him and cuddled him, making him laugh. He clambered on them and lay across the both of their abdomens, looking up at the clear blue sky. Being the beginning of October, the weather was less humid and there were a few fluffy white clouds.

“Papa what clouds made of?” Junior asked, his hand just casually tickling the beard on Franco’s chin.

“Drops of water, baby,” Isco said.

“Water?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Water don't look like that papa.”

Franco laughed. Isco turned to him.

“I think this is your area of expertise,” Isco said.

Franco smiled. He nodded.

So Isco hugged Junior as he listened attentively to Franco’s cloud lecture, put in the simplest words so Junior could understand. He watched as Franco and Junior reflected each other’s eager, impressive faces. He wished that both their curiosities would never be dampened. He wished that he could see those expressions of delight and awe every day of his life.

And he wished he could be where he was, enveloped in the warmth of the two people he loved the most, every day for the rest of his life.

\------

Franco flew back to Seville from Bilbao with the rest of the team, wanting to quickly pack and catch the next train to Madrid. Isco’s game in Getafe was practically just next to Madrid, so they'd decided to meet in Madrid right after. They'd miss the date of their anniversary, but at least they'd get to spend time together.

Franco arrived at his doorstep to see Isco and Junior sitting on his front steps again, beaming in unison.

He burst into laughter he couldn't contain. They looked so adorable, almost like exact duplicates of each other. Except the beard, of course.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, squatting with his arms open as Junior sprinted towards him.

Junior turned to Isco like he was asking for something. Isco gave a nod of encouragement.

“Waiting for papi,” Junior said.

Franco felt this. This warm glow emanate from his chest. He turned to Isco, who smiled at him, then back to Junior. “Who's – who's papi?”

“Papi,” Junior repeated. He put his hands on Franco’s shoulders like he was an adult trying to get his point across. “Vazquez papi.”

“Yeah?” Franco whispered.

“Vazquez my papi,” Junior said adoringly, leaning forward until he was wrapped up in Franco’s arms.

Franco hugged him tight and stood up with him as Isco came to join in the hug. He wrapped one arm around Isco and squeezed tight.

“I love you two more than anything else in the world,” he said, trying his hardest not to cry. “More than anything I have ever loved.”

“We love you too papi,” Junior said.

Franco chuckled and Isco kissed it right out of his lips. “You're okay with this?” Franco asked.

“‘Course I am,” Isco smiled. “Yeah.”

“And Sonia?”

“She's the one who suggested it, actually,” Isco laughed. “I mean, I was talking to her about you, and –”

“You were talking to her about me, huh?” Franco grinned. “Talking to her. About me.”

“Yeah, we, uh,” Isco laughed nervously as they went inside. “We got past that, a little.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Isco put Franco’s bag down in the living room. “She said that, you know, you're practically already his dad. So...yeah.”

“Tell her I said thank you.”

“Sure.”

“You guys eaten?” Franco asked. It was just before noon.

“Yeah, a little bit,” Isco said. “We're gonna take a shower, then Junior’s gonna take his nap, and we’re gonna go celebrate.”

“So we're just gonna leave him all alone here?”

“No,” Isco said, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, I missed out the part where Antonio’s coming to look after him.”

Franco laughed. “Okay,” he said.

“So, how'd you like your first surprise?”

“First surprise? You mean there's more?”

“You can't tell me you thought this is all you're gonna get from me. From _me. Me.”_

“You're not exactly an expert in this, so,” Franco said, dodging when Isco poked him in the ribs.

“Shut the fish up,” Isco said. He dragged Franco and Junior into the bathroom, where there were already three neat stacks of clean clothes, each topped with the same t-shirt – their matching red t-shirts with the football print.

They waited for the bubbles to form and settle before they climbed into the bath together. It was a squeeze, but after a little clanking around they settled with Junior between them and watched him with big smiles as he splashed around and slathered bubbles all over Isco and Franco, and babbled away about random things even though no one responded to him.

Then at one pm sharp, he fell asleep, so they dressed themselves and him in their family shirt and put him in his cot, which Franco had shifted from his guest room to his room, together with all of Junior’s toys and rugs. Antonio arrived a couple minutes after that, right on time, allowing Isco and Franco to get out of the house. _In their matching shirts_. Though honestly, at this point of their relationship Franco could already tell way ahead of time what dorky thing Isco was going to do next and he knew better than to try and stop him. To erase that beautiful smile off his face that appeared when he realised he’d succeeded in making Franco do something lame.

“So what’ve you got for me, my love?” Franco asked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Isco said, but giggled, so Franco knew he was enjoying all the sweet talk. “Gross.”

“You gotta tell me where we’re going.”

“No. Then it won’t be a surprise.”

And well, that was a pretty compelling argument so Franco rolled his eyes and let Isco be. He ended up being taken to this really vintage diner in the heart of Seville, down an alley. Just like the one in Madrid.

“I found a Seville equivalent to the one in Madrid,” Isco said, taking the words right out of Franco’s mouth.

Franco beamed at him. He let Isco drag him inside, but much to Franco’s surprise the entire inside of the diner was empty. There was no one. Not a single person. Franco turned to the door. The sign on it read ‘closed.’

“They're closed,” Franco said. “We should get out.”

“No, you dumbass,” Isco said, clutching Franco’s hand tightly so he wouldn't run away. “I booked the entire place.”

“You _booked_ the _entire place_?” Franco asked. “You can't book a diner.”

“Fine,” Isco threw his free arm in the air in exasperation. “I made friends with the boss, asked him how much he earned on a typical Monday, and paid him that so he’d let us have the place.”

Man, Franco’s boyfriend sucked at keeping secrets. “But he could've lied to you,” Franco said. “Like, he could've told you a number three times the real one, and then you’d have paid him way too much, and –”

“It doesn't matter to me,” Isco said. “Okay? I just want you to have a good time. That's all I want. It doesn't matter how much I paid. That's not the point. The point is I found this place I know you'll like and I just want you to have a good time. Okay?”

Franco sighed. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

“Are you mad?”

“No,” Franco smiled. “I could never be mad.”

“Yeah?” Isco tiptoed and planted his lips on Franco’s. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Franco gave him a few loud smooches. “Okay, but if there's no one here, what are we going to eat?”

“Don't you worry your pretty little head,” Isco said cheerfully, giving Franco’s hair a few playful ruffles. “There are some people in the kitchen cooking. Take a look around. Sit wherever you want. I'll go see if the food’s done.”

Then he scurried away in the direction of the kitchen, so Franco took a little tour of the place himself. There was a pool table at the end of the room and an old-timey jukebox that still accepted coins and didn't have any digital screen of any sort. Franco ran his fingers over the buttons, and found a few coins in his pockets which he put into the coin slot. He let the songs play in order starting from the first disc.

There were brightly-coloured lamps hanging above each table and along the bar. There was a typewriter fashioned into a cash register, and all the tables and stools were old and shabby, and some of the leather on the seats was cracked and falling apart. Franco got to a table near the window and sat at it, watching the mild activity in the side alley. It was quiet and shady and Franco felt like he could just sit there the entire day with his Isco, even if there was no food. Isco just. He knew Franco so well. He knew Franco loved old things and quiet places and he went out of his way to give Franco that.

Isco returned ten minutes later and sat across from him, a big excited smile on his face. “Food will be here soon,” he said.

“What kind of food?” Franco asked.

“It's some kind of Argentine-Spanish fusion.”

“Really? You're telling me I didn't know this place existed until today?”

“What can I say? You're old and boring and stay at home every day.”

Franco smacked him on the shoulder. The food came a moment later, dish after dish being carried out of the kitchen by the same two people. There was rice and beans and fish and chicken and vegetables and more rice and a whole lot of empanadas which they thought they’d just save for later. For the next hour or so they just sat there stuffing food into their mouths and feeding each other across the table. The jukebox ran out of credit and stopped playing in the middle of their meal. It was quiet and peaceful and Franco just. He just felt like royalty. He felt so in place. He’d never felt so in place in his life, ever.

“Maybe when we’re old we can open a diner like this,” he told Isco.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Then we could close it for one day every month, on our anniversary, and we’ll do this. Just sit here and eat our own food.”

“And then you can fuck me on the pool table,” Isco said, deadpan. “I mean, like, you can’t do it now, so maybe you could do it every month when we have our own.”

Franco burst into laughter. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of fucking Isco on the pool table. It was. It was pretty enticing. “Deal,” he said.

They finished their food quietly and packed the empanadas in a box to take away. Franco asked Isco again where their next destination was but Isco refused to tell him, just gave him a little mysterious smile and drove along.

They ended up at the Plaza de España, and Isco made Franco take their empanadas out with them in case they got hungry – something that Franco thought was extremely unlikely – while roaming the grounds. They started at the front square and Isco took a sudden interest in prancing around like some sort of horse, dragging Franco, giggling because he just couldn’t help it, along with him. Isco laughed and talked to himself and his hair flew merrily in the wind and Franco. Franco just wanted to be stuck here forever in a time loop.

It was no wonder that Isco had wanted to take the empanadas along because soon he got hungry with all the slipping and sliding and goofing around. He chomped on one as they roamed the south wing, still hand in hand because Isco simply didn’t want to let go. He wanted to take photos with _everything_ , though, so Franco had to hold his food for him while he posed, and take the photo for him. God, what a little bugger. A little bugger that Franco loved to bits.

“You’re a tourist now? Franco asked as Isco stuffed the remainder of his empanada in his mouth and dumped the wrapper in a bin. “A tourist in your own country?”

“My country is gigantic, okay.”

“My country’s five times the size of yours.”

“You haven’t seen it all either.”

“Yeah,” Franco confessed.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Of course,” Franco smiled. He would’ve hated Isco to think he wasn’t having a good time. “Hey. I love going to new places. Especially with you.”

“Yeah?” Isco smiled.

“Mmhmm. Thank you. For this.”

“It’s a pretty amazing place.”

“It is,” Franco said. The architecture was breathtaking. The vibrant colours, shiny tiles, and the towers that rose high above them. The perfect autumn weather decorating the paths that they never seemed to run out of. “It’s better with the most amazing company.”

Isco’s smile grew. He pulled Franco down to kiss him. “I love you so much, Franco Vazquez.”

“I love you, too,” Franco whispered. He wrapped his arm tightly around Isco. “More than you can ever imagine.”

Isco dragged him to a bench, where they sat as the sky began to glow a fiery red, and then extinguish to a calm purple, and finally become dark. The square was minimally lit up, and so was the building in the backdrop. It was completely silent. It was peaceful.

“This place is really nice,” Franco said softly, fingers fidgeting with Isco’s hand.

“You think so? Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we barely get to spend any time together.”

“Happy anniversary and a day, Franco.”

Franco smiled. He kissed Isco on his temple. “Happy anniversary and a day.”

“I can’t wait to have so many more of this.”

“How many?”

“Very many.”

Franco laughed. He leaned his head on Isco’s as Isco leaned on his shoulder. There was a short silence.

“It’s too bad there are no stars here,” Isco said.

“You far outshine any star I’ll ever see.”

“Shut up,” Isco laughed. “Seriously. I’m being serious.”

“ _I’m_ being serious.”

“I just, you know, thought that maybe you’d like to go see some stars. But I didn’t know where to take you in Seville.”

Franco took Isco’s hand and stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To see some stars.”

Isco stood up excitedly and let Franco take him along. He sat in the passenger seat looking really happy and he watched Franco all the way even though all Franco was doing was literally just driving. Franco brought him to the park a little up north, across the river. It was dark and the paths were dimly lit with warm orange low street lamps. But this less elevated light pollution meant that they could see at least a few more stars.

“You come here often?” Isco asked as they shuffled down the dirt path along the river, hand in hand again.

“Mmhmm,” Franco smiled. “When...when I’m not with you. When I miss you. I come here and look at the stars ‘cause they remind me of you.”

Isco laughed softly. “That’s nice,” he whispered. He paused to look around them. “A little dangerous, though.”

“You’re scared?” Franco asked, laughing. Isco shook his head, but. “You’re scared. You’re scared of the dark. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll protect you.”

“ _You’ll_ protect _me,_ ” Isco scoffed. “Sure.”

“What? I can protect you.”

“Says the guy who got beaten up in an alley.”

“That was _once_. And I was vulnerable. I’m not now. Wanna bet? I’ll punch you in the face and you tell me if it hurts.”

“No,” Isco giggled, letting go of Franco and scurrying ahead to avoid his fist. He changed his mind like, three seconds later, and came scurrying back. “Shit, it’s too dark, hold me.”

Franco laughed again. He wrapped his arm over Isco’s shoulders as they strolled along, eventually finding a part of the river bank that was wide enough for them to sit on. They sat on the slope in the dirty grass and Isco made Franco name the stars and planets they could see in the sky, and he looked genuinely interested and impressed when Franco managed to.

They eventually got up and left, making it out of the park gates right before the gatekeeper locked them. Isco smiled all the way home and bounced around in his seat like he’d never broken a rule or stayed out late in his life. Which Franco knew for a fact wasn’t true.

Junior was already asleep when they got home, while Antonio had planted his ass firmly in front of the TV. He greeted Isco and Franco with no more than a grunt and a judgemental glance up and down like he was trying to sense if they’d done anything naughty.

They escaped into the bathroom and got in the shower together, gently scrubbing all the dirt and autumn leaf scent off each other.

“Maybe I shouldn't have brought Junior here,” Isco suddenly said.

“Why?” Franco asked. “Wasn't the papi thing your first surprise?”

Isco chuckled. “Yeah, but now we can't fuck.”

“Can't we?” Franco whispered. He gently pushed Isco’s shoulders until Isco was backed up against the shower wall. He pressed his lips on Isco’s and felt them part in a gasp, hot and wet and surprised. “Hmm?”

And Isco just. He just obliged, gave in to Franco a hundred percent. He let Franco press him against the cold, wet wall, hands and mouth eager alike, clutching and grasping and biting in the slippery shower. He let Franco pound him against all four walls of the shower. He let Franco cover his mouth with one hand, muffling his moans and hisses. He let Franco push him and shove him and grab him wherever Franco wished, until his bum and thighs and abdomen and biceps were all red.

“Fuck,” Isco whispered, shuddering, his legs wrapped around Franco’s waist as Franco jerked the rest of Isco’s orgasm out of him. “We totally can.”

“Mmhmm,” Franco smiled. He pressed his lips on Isco’s soft, sensitive ones.

Isco sighed. He leaned back against the shower glass, letting his weight rest completely on Franco’s arms, which were now under Isco’s butt. “You treat me so well, Franco Vazquez.”

“Yeah?” Franco grinned. “Well, I gotta have a way to live up to the amazing day you've given me.”

“Cheesy,” Isco noted. “I don't know when you became so cheesy.”

Franco managed to ignore that. He washed them both clean and wiped them both dry, and Isco just kept staring and smiling at Franco so Franco had no choice but to help Isco put on his clothes, too.

They found Antonio already asleep in the guest room, so they retreated to their own room and stood next to Junior’s cot to watch him sleep.

“He's adorable,” Franco whispered.

“Yeah?” Isco smiled.

“The best thing you've ever created.”

Isco gave a soft laugh. He hooked his arm in Franco’s and leaned his head on Franco’s shoulder as they watched Junior’s little chest rise and sink with his breaths.

Franco reached over and lifted Junior out of his cot. He hugged Junior tightly against him and smiled when Junior turned his head to the side to rest his cheek on Franco’s shoulder.

Isco laughed against and gently stroked Junior’s cheek with his finger. “Our lil squishy.”

Junior stirred a little, one of his hands grabbing a tiny fistful of Franco’s sleeve and the other the back of Franco’s collar. He opened his eyes a little and Isco was the first one he saw.

“Hi papa,” he murmured, then turned his head so he was facing Franco’s neck. He buried his face in it and gave a sigh. “Hi Vazquez. Hmm. Hi papi.”

“Hi,” Franco whispered, smiling.

“Papa and papi love you very many,” Isco whispered.

Junior gave a soft giggle. “‘Kay,” he said. His fists loosened as he fell back asleep.

Franco put him back in his cot. He turned to Isco, who had a loving smile on his face. They turned off all the lights save for the two bedside lamps and climbed into bed side by side.

“Thanks for the amazing day,” Franco whispered.

Isco’s smile grew. “Thank _you_ for the amazing year.”

“I just, you know,” Franco shrugged. “I have so many things to tell you.”

“So tell me.”

“It's just that – when we started,” Franco said softly, afraid if he spoke too loud his voice would tremble. “You never doubted me. You never lost hope. You never got scared that – that because I thought I was aro that I wouldn't know how to love. You never got scared that I would run away or change my mind or realise I was wrong again. You stuck by me and I just – I'm so thankful and I'm so happy that I met you and that you're the one for me, out of all the billions of people in the world. And now, it's been a year, and. And I just. I'm so happy, Isco. You make me so happy.”

Isco dove into Franco’s arms for a hug. “That's all I ever want to do,” he whispered. “Make you happy.”

“Do I make you happy?”

“Of course. The happiest man in the universe. In all the universes.”

“I love you so much, Francisco Alarcon.”

“I love you, too.”

“I wanna grow old with you, and watch all this beautiful hair go grey, and I wanna see your smile every single day and I want to hold your hand when it's all wrinkly, and I wanna tell you I love you so many more times than necessary, and I want to see the world with you and I can't wait to do all of these things. I can't wait for our forever.”

Isco gave a little sob. He shoved his face into Franco’s shoulder and sniffled. “I can't wait for our forever, either.”

“I love you.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you, too.”

A short silence.

“Let’s take a photo,” Isco said.

Franco laughed because he knew that had been coming. “Okay,” he said. “How?”

“I don’t know, you’re the photo expert,” Isco said.

Franco sighed, because he had to do _everything_ in this house. He piled their pillows and sheets up and propped Isco’s phone on top of them.

“Ready?” Franco asked, setting the timer to ten seconds and settling in cross-legged and facing Isco, their knees bumping and their sides to the camera.

“Mmhmm,” Isco grinned. He took Franco’s hands in his and held them with their fingers intertwined, lifted a little so it was in the camera’s view. “Come a little closer.”

“What?”

“Come closer to me.”

Franco leaned forward. Isco did the same.

“Little closer,” Isco said.

Franco leaned forward even more so their noses were touching.

“Just a little more,” Isco whispered, before closing the gap and pressing his lips on Franco’s.

And that was what the camera caught, the both of them grinning into the kiss, eyes crinkling at the sides, Franco’s hair a mess while Isco’s buoyant curls cascaded wonderfully down his head, and their hands clutched tightly together.

They posted it to Instagram with matching captions, a poem that Franco had read once and which Isco had loved when Franco showed him the book it was in. A copy of that book sat on Isco’s bedside table, getting more dog-eared each night.

_And in the end I will seek you out amongst the stars / The space dust of me will whisper ‘I love you’ / Into the infinity of the universe._


	37. Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy guys, so I’m promising that this set of notes won’t be as long and boring as the one I did on AEIB. I just wanted to give you guys a few anecdotes on this fic, can you imagine I actually made it 12 chapters initially? I can’t believe I just played myself like that. This fic has become too long to open in MS Word without my computer just giving up on life. It’s surprisingly even longer than AEIB!
> 
> Anyway, I’d like to thank you all for sticking with me until the end. This fic has had more than its share of ups and downs, twists and turns, and you guys braved through all of it and I’m so glad that you guys enjoyed it. I love hearing your comments and I will always be reading them whenever you feel like sending them, whether it’s now or five years later. I’m sorry that I kept extending the fic but really, thank you all so much and I’m so happy to have all your support and encouragement.
> 
> Okay, so I promised I won’t be long and boring so here goes. This will be short and sweet (hopefully) so you guys can go read the [new fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11932443/chapters/26971101) (<\- click it!) hehehe, but if you wanna read more notes/behind the scenes you can also head over to the notes I wrote on AEIB [(click here)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7722889/chapters/21598307).

**Isco**

I previously stated Isco as a heteroromantic bisexual. I can’t say that it’s changed, neither can I say that he’s still the same; all I can say at the least is that he might be a biromantic bisexual. Isco would rather let his feelings be than try to label them if he thinks it would be more trouble than he is willing to participate in. He is easygoing and he feels things without giving them a name. It might seem like he doesn’t care deeply about things but God, Isco has _the biggest heart._ When he cares, he _cares_ and he never hesitates to show it. He never hesitates to pinpoint exactly what someone likes and then give it all to that person. I guess that’s why he gets along with everybody.

Isco’s story arc is pretty mild, I guess, compared to Franco’s. It largely centers about him dealing with his own emotions. More than once it was about Franco, and he had to make the decision whether to let Franco know or not, first that he had feelings for Franco and then that he loved Franco. Then it was about that whole Thing at the end, and Isco dealt with it the wrong way and he had to learn his lesson the hard way. But perhaps the most subtle one was between him and Sonia, which I used as sort of a metaphor for Isco’s development. There wasn’t much said about Isco and Sonia being good friends, but at the beginning they never talked about their romantic relationships with other people, and Isco himself said that he didn’t understand what had happened between him and Sonia. But in the middle Isco began to open up about her to Franco, the person he trusted most. He talked about it and he tried to understand instead of avoiding it. And then in the epilogue, Isco says he jumped the invisible barrier and spoke to Sonia about his relationship with Franco. It’s quite subtle and I don’t think you would’ve noticed if I’m not mentioning it right now, but Isco’s development as a whole is pretty mild (if you have another opinion leave a comment please, I’d love to hear it! Maybe you saw something in Isco that I didn’t) and this thing with Sonia is just a little ‘marker’ for Isco’s progression.

And Isco about Franco – well. I guess over all these long-ass chapters we saw his affection towards Franco very quickly turn from superficial to a much deeper, much more meaningful sort of love. He would do anything, Isco would do anything for Franco as long as he thought it would make Franco happy and safe. Sometimes it's the wrong decision. But whatever it is, Isco genuinely just wants Franco to be happy.

I loved writing Isco’s character because he's just so jolly. He makes me so happy to write. Even his presence in words lights up the room for me, and I hope that I've shown that to all of you.

**Franco**

I previously stated Franco as an aromantic homosexual. After the progression of this fic, I think we (and he) can safely say that he’s a demiromantic homosexual. As you may have guessed or noticed, Franco is almost the complete opposite of Isco. He worships labels and he thrives on order and control. And sometimes his need for this holds him back because he has to settle one thing before he moves on to the next. Which explains why it took so long for him and Isco, and why Franco took so long to see and say the things that we begged him to see and say.

Franco is my favourite character to write and I am actually pretty proud of how he’s developed, even starting in AEIB, where he was just a stoic and really mean background character. I hope that I’ve written him the way I wanted to: he’s changed if you look at chapter 1 vs chapter 36, but he still retains most, if not all of the very striking characteristics that make him the Franco we have known from the start. We got to know him much more in this fic, and Franco is actually a really loving, really caring person. He just doesn’t show it in the conventional way. He cares, not in the all-out, in-your-face way like Isco, but he definitely does not care any less than Isco does. He puts in the effort so quietly and subtly that you’d completely miss it until he stopped. It’s lucky he won’t.

Over the whole fic we’ve seen Franco open up, not necessarily to everyone but especially to Isco. He hasn’t only become more trusting of Isco but of himself, to think of the right words and to say them at the right time. He has become happier and less serious about everything. He has become less afraid of losing control. Franco has many layers and he’s peeled off most of them because he’s found the right person to do it for him. And in the end, he’s not even afraid anymore.

The thing about Franco falling in love is that it took him a lot. It took him a lot to get to where he is, getting to know Isco and connecting with Isco, and then falling in love with him. It didn’t come easy for Franco, which is why you might’ve noticed him holding on to it for dear life. Franco has given way too much to be where he is. It didn’t just all suddenly come to him. He definitely isn’t going to let it all go so easily.

I don’t know what else I can say about Franco because I feel like whatever words I use to try and summarize him to you will not do this character any justice. He’s just a character that you need to read about to understand and appreciate. I love this Franco so much and I’m so glad that I got to introduce him to you guys, along with the real-life Franco whom most of you hadn’t heard about before.

\------

Just a few little short tidbits about this fic!

**Icarus**

So I mentioned from the very beginning that their theme song is Icarus by Bastille, and given that Franco was aromantic I initially pictured Isco as Icarus and that he got too close, got himself too deep into someone who didn’t reciprocate his feelings. But it turned out to be Franco who lost control and ‘flew too close to the sun.’ So I guess what I planned didn’t turn out to be what I wrote because in a way, they’re _both_ Icarus. But then again it also means that this theme song/theme in general is even more suitable for them :)))

**Opposites attract**

As mentioned earlier and throughout the story, Isco and Franco are opposites. But I like to think that it’s only superficial, because deep down they are almost exactly the same. They always try their best to be caring and understanding, they are always willing to listen, they put a hundred percent effort into everything they do especially defending or helping their friends, and most importantly, they desire control. The only difference between them is the way they show it. Isco pours it all out, he shows everything he feels, that he cares or loves or is angry, or even if he’s confused. Which makes him really easy to get along with because he seems happy-go-lucky and just really easy to click with. He’s the kind that would sit down with someone and think of a solution. On the other hand, Franco shows it by thinking of the solution first before sitting down with someone. He’s more reserved and thoughtful, and he gets angry because he cares, but never too angry to abandon someone altogether. So I guess they complement each other especially in the sense that Franco likes to keep himself hidden, while Isco tries his best to seek those things out, tries his best to understand even though Franco may be complicated.

But even so, I hope that throughout the course of this fic I have managed to show them becoming more like each other (just like Paulo and Alvaro, I know, I’m so cliché); Isco becomes more thoughtful and less wild, and Franco becomes more open and like, he dares to smile more and feel more, in a way. And of course they keep trying their best to learn about each other and think for each other, what the other person would like them to do or say, etc.

**The title, ‘come a little closer’**

Continuing on that note, this title is exactly what it says, nothing deep – it refers to Isco and Franco, two almost complete opposites, getting closer and closer together, so slowly that it’s painful for both them and us, and finally colliding, like two galaxies, sprinkling the sky with a trillion stars. It also refers to the unspoken challenge they both pose to each other, to ‘come a little closer’ until they are too close to ever be separated again. I especially like the challenge one because that’s exactly them, a couple of competitive assholes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo that is all! There are a billion other things I could say about them but I’ll leave you guys to interpret these two idiots however you wish. I hope I satisfied both your cravings and mine by extending the fic 5000 times (it literally was supposed to end 3 different times) and thank you once again for sticking with me, thank you, thank you, and I will see you again soon, right [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11932443/chapters/26971101)


End file.
